Sherlock's weakness
by BelstaffJumper
Summary: Sherlock is dismayed to learn that he is not as immune to the needs of his body as he had previously thought. Someone from his past shows up and undermines his defenses. John is shocked; Sherlock had a relationship? Does that mean he's Sherlock's type? A case stirs up things and leads to Johnlock. M just to be safe. Enjoy!
1. Hmmm

Yay! After nine months of asking, pleading, begging, bribing, cajoling and plainly annoying my very patient beta (who had the great heart to go through the lengthy editing process no less than three times for this one!), I have a new story to publish. Any mistakes will be all mine, as I can't really ask for a fourth reading...

I was called out when the characters were not behaving like themselves, when I didn't give them enough credit, or when the story simply didn't work. I had to trim a lot of the "fat" and almost had to delete the entire beginning. But I'm happy with the way it turned out, and I hope you will too. There are twenty one chapters and I'll do my best to publish one a day, as usual. Enjoy!

And the disclaimer, no, sadly not mine. Otherwise Season 3 would've been a Johnlock-fest. Darn.

* * *

 **1\. Hmmm**

'Shut up, John.'

'I didn't say anything!'

'You're thinking. It's so loud it's annoying.'

'Well, do you want to talk ab-'

'No!'

'But-'

'No!'

'Wh-'

'No!'

And Sherlock turned and flagged a cab, declaring the conversation over.

...

 _\- Half an hour earlier -_

After fending off three women with too much perfume, too much makeup, too much cleavage, too much alcohol in their system and too little intelligence, the whole of the party was finally steering clear out of his way.

He regretted once again having succumbed to John and Sarah's pleas. She had invited them for her New Year's Eve party. John had argued it would be a nice thing to do; for his part, to show her they could remain friends. And for Sherlock, it would do well to keep on her good graces, given how much work John missed because of him. Sherlock pointed out that John merely wanted to meet new women now that he was solo again, and this was just a feeble excuse. John then threatened to throw away his experiment, so he had relented. He wished Sarah owned a gun.

 _Perhaps I could try cursive next time, to make it challenging,_ he sighed.

Sherlock was standing by the window, staring outside, when he saw Sarah's reflection on the glass. Seeing new friends arriving, she jumped up and down, waving happily. Sherlock's eyes naturally went to the door where four people were removing their coats. He had already read everyone in the party, so he'd welcome some distraction, even if it would only take him three minutes, tops. _Hmpf, probably two._

Sherlock felt a shockwave sweep inside his body when his eyes fell upon one of the new arrivals. He turned around for an undistorted look.

...

John was aware that Sherlock was most likely sulking alone in a corner somewhere. He wanted to keep him company and make sure he didn't insult too many people, but kept getting distracted. Sarah had introduced him to some of her girlfriends and he just had had a fun and flirty banter with Annie. _She's really cute._

He turned to check on Sherlock and his brow furrowed.

Sherlock looked even stiffer than usual, almost an angry look to him, as he intently stared at the new arrivals. This was serious. _An old enemy? Someone he sent to jail?_ John looked at the door; there were four men in the hallway, in their thirties. One had a shaved head and retro looking spectacles. The second man was so skinny he rivalled Sherlock, looking frail enough to be broken in half by anyone merely shaking his hand. The third one was quite the opposite, overweight, with a belly that hung over his belt. The fourth...

The fourth one had clearly spotted Sherlock and had gone pale, a stunned look on his face, his lips agape.

Frowning, John looked back at Sherlock, who seemed to have gone even paler than usual. John looked at the new arrivals again. As the man's companions were introducing him to Sarah, he turned to face her with a dazzling smile. They shook hands and chatted for a while. As soon as he could, he moved towards Sherlock, eyes wide, mouth open.

John went to the table to ostensibly refill his drink, but in reality to get a clear view of where Sherlock stood. He was curious, _who's that man? Why is Sherlock - what? - upset?_ That worried John. The hair on his nape stood up. _I'd better keep an eye on them, in case there's trouble._ Sherlock's head had shifted slightly backwards, as if to create more distance between them, now that the stranger approached.

The man was handsome, had light blond hair, blue eyes, a cleft chin, a bit taller than Sherlock, medium build. He had freckles and was tanned as someone who spends a lot of time outdoors in the sun. He was well dressed in a manner that spoke of old money, elegant and confident. Just like Sherlock. As they stood facing each other, John couldn't see the stranger's face.

Sherlock spoke little and remained impassive. He pointedly kept his hands in his pockets. The man kept on talking.

After twenty minutes or so, the stranger put his hand on Sherlock's chest, as if pleading. John made a small involuntary jerk, ready to run to his aid, but was halted by the reaction that the touch caused.

Sherlock was taken by surprise, his cool demeanour shattered. He tilted his chin up, gasping slightly, lips parting. It took him a few seconds to recover. Then he reverted to his impassive mode, the only thing off being a slight flush on his cheeks. He said something and the hand fell off his chest, as the stranger's shoulders and head drooped.

Then someone shouted:

'Hey everyone! It's five till midnight! Everyone get their glasses and coats and head to the roof to watch the fireworks!'

Sarah's neighbours down the street always set off fireworks on New Year's Eve, so going to the roof had become a tradition in her parties, she had explained to him a week ago. She took his arm and John was swept upstairs with the crowd. He hesitated briefly, but Sherlock didn't seem to be in immediate danger. The stranger was not showing any anger or aggression. Yet, he decided not to linger upstairs too much.

Once the fireworks started, he looked around, but couldn't see Sherlock (or the stranger) anywhere. He exchanged a hug with Sarah and joined in clinking glasses with many of the other guests, who were all singing and cheering.

The air outside was cold enough and soon people started heading back to the warmth of the flat. Relieved, John saw Sherlock and the stranger still talking by the window. Sherlock still had his hands in his pockets but the flush in his cheeks had deepened.

Sarah's friend Annie touched his arm and gave him a hug, wishing him a Happy New Year. All John could see (and smell) in those seconds were brown curls, soft, fragrant and luxuriously long, the way he liked. They exchanged the usual pleasantries.

'John?'

Sherlock's voice always cut through any noise, even when he spoke quietly. John was so attuned to him he would've heard him even during the fireworks. He immediately turned, while Annie scurried away, embarrassed by Sherlock's scathing remarks to her earlier in the evening.

'Victor, this is John Watson. John, Victor Trevor.'

Victor had an astonished look on his face and Sherlock was definitely blushing by now. John politely shook his hand, baffled by their behaviour, looking from one to the other, his forehead crinkling. _Not enemies then, I guess._

'So... Sherlock tells me you're sharing a flat now?'

'Hm? Oh, yes. We've been at the flat for almost two years now.'

'Well, um, congratulations,' Victor said, as he unconsciously looked him up from head to toe.

John didn't like that. Not only because of the assumption that they were a couple, but also the jab on his physical appearance. He raised his chin. _Who the hell do you think you are?_

But Victor didn't see the defiant look directed at him. He turned away saying, 'Sherlock, I'm very happy for you. I truly am. You deserve all the happiness in the world.' He looked back at John with a small smile. 'I'm glad you found someone. Well John, Happy New Year!'

John _really_ didn't like that. He shot Sherlock a glare, annoyed that he hadn't corrected this man's assumption that they were together.

But then John saw something on the familiar face that he had never seen before. Sherlock looked nervous, unsure of himself, and had just given him a pleading look. It only lasted a second, but John had seen it. Seeing him so vulnerable made his annoyance fizzle out and he immediately forgave Sherlock. With the ghost of a smile, he returned a look that said _I'm here for you. Anything you need._

Relieved, Sherlock gave a small smile and stepped to his side to face Victor, cupping John's shoulder.

Once he looked back at Victor, he became aware of what their wordless exchange must have looked like to him. He interpreted it as John being clearly jealous and furious, "you never told me about _him_!" Sherlock had looked "anguished and apologetic", so John forgave him. But to Victor, this easiness with which Sherlock had touched John, that was new. He knew Sherlock usually didn't care for touching others or being touched. Even with Victor, in the beginning, it had been a calculated effort. This easiness was surprising and told volumes of the kind of relationship they had. Victor inhaled deeply but contained himself and let the air out discreetly.

Up until now Sherlock hadn't noticed how natural it felt to touch John. He filed that away to puzzle over at a later time. 'Well, it was good to see you, Victor. But John and I need to go now.'

'Yes, of course. I understand.'

'Goodbye, Victor.'

'Goodbye, Sherlock,' and they stared at each other, a sense of finality clear in their polite words. Then, remembering John's presence, 'John, nice to meet you. Don't let him run away. Take good care of him.'

'I always do,' he answered a bit frostily. _As if he needed to tell me that!_

They turned, but Victor called, 'And Sherlock?'

Both men did a half turn, so Victor added, 'I'm glad I could finally talk to you.' He smiled in an attempt to hide his sadness. 'It was good to see you.'

John looked at Sherlock, expecting him to reply. But after a second, he only gave Victor a brief nod and turned away again.

* * *

A/note: how could any Johnlock writer not end up with a story that mentions Victor? This is my version of him for you. Please review and let me know what you think. We learn more about him tomorrow. Stay tuned!


	2. A face from the past

A/Note: I forgot to mention, this has not been Brit-picked. Any comments on that front are always welcome. Thanks for reading and enjoy!

* * *

 **2\. A face from the past**

On the following day John was jolted awake to a frightfully loud row. He went from deep sleep to sitting up in his bed in one sweep, eyes wide. Heart pounding, he immediately heard Mycroft's name and let himself fall back in bed, groaning. _Happy New Year to you too, Mycroft! Argh, couldn't he at least wait until a reasonable hour before showing up?_ He couldn't really hear Mycroft, but Sherlock was yelling and seemingly trashing the whole flat. _I'd better get up before he breaks everything!_ He shivered and wrapped himself in his warmest dressing gown. Thinking twice, he traded his slippers for his boots.

As he approached the landing, he heard Sherlock's thunderous voice yell 'Get out!'

Mycroft was just walking away, merely swinging sightly to avoid the shoe that hit the wall beyond. Mycroft adjusted his suit pompously, tilted his head and said calmly, 'Good morning John. Oh, and a Happy New Year,' he bowed slightly. 'I apologise if my brother woke you up. He's being his usual childish self, using volume and physicality in response to irrefutable rational arguments. I'll leave him until he's ready to talk like a civilised adult. Good day.'

John couldn't help but to be impressed that Mycroft didn't even look back, but dodged a book thrown his way with calm and ease.

He heard Mycroft calmly say good morning to Mrs. Hudson as he went downstairs. Carefully, John poked his head into the sitting room. He saw Sherlock open the window, ready to throw something else at Mycroft below.

'Ah no, Sherlock! Not the nice teapot!' He rushed and took it away from him and Sherlock's empty hand whipped forward.

...

For the next few days Sherlock was practically mute. Mostly he stayed in his room, and if he did come out, he'd either play mournful songs on his violin while standing by the window, or lie on the couch, not moving for hours, only breathing and blinking.

John kept on speculating. _Had Sherlock had a relationship with this Victor? Was that even possible? Had Sherlock said they were a couple to fend Victor off? Or just so not to give him the satisfaction of finding Sherlock alone? To show off, basically._ Not that Victor had thought much of John, that much was clear.

It wasn't until the fourth day after the party that Sherlock spoke. John had made good use of his day off and had just finished his chores around the flat. He made himself a cuppa, sat down with his book and... didn't read it, getting himself distracted once more, staring blindly at the pages.

'Oh, all right!'

John jumped, not expecting to hear his voice at that very second. 'Sorry?'

'Fine! I'll tell you. You've been brooding about it for the last four days, it's annoying.'

' _I've_ been brooding? _You're_ the one who's been lying on the sofa-'

'Well, do you want to hear it or not, John?'

Annoyed that the answer could not be anything but "Yes, of course I want to hear it!", he clamped his book and his mouth shut. Sherlock stood up and swept to the window, his dressing gown sliding off one shoulder. Turning his back towards John, he pulled the gown tightly and tied the sash with deliberate moves.

'Victor and I met at Uni. His dog bit me one day, severely enough to require stitches. He was apologetic and insisted on taking me to A&E. We developed a friendship of sorts. As it turns out, Victor was somewhat of an informal drug supplier around campus. That is to say, his friends paid for what they took from him. Obviously, he introduced me to them.'

He turned partially, 'The drugs, not the friends.'

Sherlock closed his eyes remembering that first high, how he sank within himself.

* * *

 _So much less chaos, so much peace.  
Yes, this is definitely worth pursuing._

* * *

'Taking drugs was amazingly soothing. Whenever I felt restless or bored out of my skull, they gave me peace and contentment. Victor was not completely stupid, he had enough intelligence to recognise my brilliance while most people scoffed - not unlike you, come to think of it.'

John's lips tugged down. He didn't like being compared to someone who had no trouble turning Sherlock to drugs. Not to mention the dubious compliment, if you could call it that.

'Then, one night, we were high and he introduced me to sex.'

John's eyes bulged at that. Of all things, he never expected to hear Sherlock talking so openly about this. Hell, he had never expected Sherlock to have had a relationship! Much less with a man, given his interest in Irene Adler.

* * *

Victor's fingers on his face, a gentle caress that did not alarm him.  
On the contrary, it extracted a contented sound from his lips.  
Victor looked at his mouth and leaned forward for a kiss.  
Maybe the effect was compounded by the drugs,  
but the high he experienced then was unlike any others.  
For the first time, he abandoned himself to the sensations of his transport  
and followed wherever Victor took them.

* * *

'Our - idyll - lasted the whole semester. He invited me over that Summer. Incidentally, his father was the one who gave me the idea of what to do with my skills. Victor was gushing about my talents so his father asked me to read him. Inadvertently I caused him much distress with my deductions. A day later, the old man received a letter and fell ill, which ended my stay abruptly. He had a stroke and passed away soon after that, amidst strange circumstances. I solved that case for Victor. Basically it was an old acquaintance blackmailing him for his past wrongdoings. Part of what I had read on him that day was related to it. I won't bore you with the details - it was a mere level three.'

Sherlock clasped his hands behind his back. 'Victor didn't come back the next term.'

After a small pause he added, 'Not surprisingly, my drug habit took hold of me.'

* * *

Many faces, many beds,  
all a blur that could not fill the void left by Victor's absence.  
It became patently clear that he was as addicted to the physical sensations  
as he was to the drugs.  
He chased that high time and time again,  
but it was never enough.  
Never the same.

* * *

'He just told me at the party that he went to Southeast Asia on a self destructive path of drug abuse, due to his grief. It wasn't until he almost died that he decided to go into rehab. By the time he returned, Mycroft had already sent me to rehab and "advised" Victor to stay away from me.' Sherlock's right fist clenched and he placed it on the window frame at his shoulder level. 'He moved to Australia to start anew and has lived there ever since.'

To anyone else, it would seem like he was talking about these very disturbing events in his life as if commenting on the weather, but John felt the weight of the unspoken words in Sherlock's silences. Underneath the dispassionate account there was pain, and John finally understood Sherlock's coldness. As he had always suspected, it was a protective shield. Caring, loving - it had only caused him pain in the past.

'I guess I should thank you,' Sherlock said in the same neutral tone.

'Sorry, what?'

'Thank you. For not clarifying his misconception about us.'

'His misconception? Or your intentional misdirection?'

Sherlock smiled to himself. _John can be so perceptive sometimes. Always surprising._

He turned around, amusement showing on his face. 'Yes, I admit I phrased all my sentences in a way that might have given him ideas as to the nature of our relationship. Hardly my fault if he added one plus one and got four.'

John couldn't help but smiling in response. 'Just out of curiosity, what exactly did you tell him?'

He sat on the chair across from John, crossed his legs and put his fingers together. 'I told him I had met someone and that we've been living together for almost two years now. I described you as a former army doctor, who has been discharged after being injured in Afghanistan. I mentioned you continue to practice medicine and yet you still help me solve cases - either by asking the questions that point me in the right direction or by fighting criminals by my side. I listed your skills, adding that I couldn't have found a better partner. I may have omitted "in crime solving" at that last remark.'

That made John laugh, which pleased Sherlock.

'In other words, all you said was true. And everything fitted the description of a romantic relationship.'

'I didn't lie,' he shrugged with a smirk.

John's eyes sparkled. 'So. You couldn't have found a better partner?' He furrowed his brow, 'Can I get that in writing for the next time you're being a dick?'

Sherlock tilted his head, 'I might have embellished the reality just a teensy bit.'

'No you didn't.'

'All right, I was generous then.'

And John chuckled, 'Sherlock, you _are_ a dick.'

John then quieted and became serious. 'Sherlock, I'm glad you didn't go back to him. It would've been a disaster. One fight and both of you could be back to using drugs.'

'I am well aware of this. That's why I misled him into thinking we were together.'

'Sherlock, I'm really sorry.'

'What for?'

'For all that you've been through. You didn't deserve all this pain.'

'This hardly matters, it was a long time ago.'

'Of course it matters. Sherlock, not all relationships are destructive. You shouldn't have to avoid getting involved with someone else just because of what happened with Victor. Who knows? You might yet find someone you love and be happy. Don't shut down the whole world for fear of caring and getting hurt.'

'I don't have any fears, I just learned from my mistake. I am perfectly happy with the way things are right now.'

'All I'm saying is, if someone does appear in your life, I hope you won't waste that chance. I just want you to be happy, Sherlock.'

To avoid an unproductive argument, Sherlock tilted his head and remained quiet. _I already have someone that makes me happy. And what we are is all I need._ He raised his head. 'Satisfied now?'

'Yes. Thank you. For telling me all this. I'm honoured that you trust me to share all that.'

Sherlock's lips twitched, 'It was either you or the skull.'

'Dick,' John said without anger. He knew it was Sherlock's way of deflecting the seriousness of their talk. 'I guess I'll make more tea.'

'You already have one. Probably cold by now.'

'I know. That's why I'm making more,' he stood up and turned to the kitchen.

'Milk, two sugars.'

'Sorry, what did you say?'

Sherlock frowned, 'Milk, two sugars.'

John cupped his ear, 'I didn't hear it correctly.'

Sherlock clicked his tongue, 'Oh please, John-'

'Ah, there. Did that kill you? Sure, Sherlock, since you asked me so nicely, I will make you some tea.'

'John, you're insufferable!'

'And you couldn't have found a better partner.'

'Ugh!'

John chuckled as he filled up the kettle.

Sherlock couldn't help smiling once John had his back to the sitting room.

* * *

A/note: Hope you liked it. Reviews are welcome (even if they're negative - that helps me improve) and I always reply, don't be shy. And if you do see something that I missed, let me know and I'll fix it. Grammar, brit-speak, typos, anything. I edit endlessly (hence one chapter a day) but, as Sherlocks says, "there's always something!" See you tomorrow!


	3. On handsome boring men and the lightbulb

**3\. On handsome boring men and the lightbulb**

Sherlock was annoyed. Ever since their talk, at first John seemed awkward whenever they were not on a case. He could feel the sideways glances, could almost hear the brooding. He wondered if that had been a mistake, to disclose his past to such a staunchly straight man. Then, all the sudden, John seemed to have made his mission in life to introduce him to as many men as possible. It was like being on display at a slave market, with John extolling on his attributes. He wasn't sure what was worse, that in itself, or John's assumption that he had a "type". All men were tall, handsome, vain, full of themselves, eager to get into Sherlock's pants ( _boring and uninteresting_ ). In a sense, they seemed to be a male version of John's string of girlfriends, all looks and no depth. Granted, he did have an eye for finding attractive men. But if he had given up Victor, why would a stranger be any better?

'John, would you stop that?'

'Hm? Stop what? I'm just cooking dinner.'

'You know full well what I mean. I don't need your intervention. I've said it before, I don't need to meet someone new.'

'Oh, that. Sherlock, how will you know unless you at least try to date?'

'John, I've also told you before, I'm married to my work. So please, stop this nonsense.'

John gave Sherlock a long look, sighed and continued stirring, 'Fine, Sherlock. I'll stop.'

'Thank you,' he huffed with relief, as if John had finally understood an extremely basic concept.

'Hey, I was just trying-'

'My answer is still no.'

'All right, all right, fine, I give up.'

...

From his vantage point, John could watch Sherlock's "interrogation" without the suspect noticing. Sherlock was playing a role, a meek accountant, to put the suspect at ease. John didn't like the distance between them. If the suspect were to attack, he'd be too far away to be of any help. But Sherlock had been adamant; he could extract a lot more information by showing up alone and looking non-threatening. And this was the closest that John could get.

Sherlock approached and called the man's attention. This bloke was a bit shorter than Sherlock, but strong. When the suspect turned to face the mousy stuttering man that had just called him, Sherlock seemed momentarily frozen. John frowned, _What is he doing?_

Sherlock had paused as if he had forgotten his lines. He caught himself, pushed the spectacles up his nose and spoke. The man turned away and continued his carpentry work, smirking. Sherlock gave him a once over, unmistakably lingering a bit on the arse.

The man said something and Sherlock proceeded with his role.

 _Was he actually checking this man out?_

John shook his head and paid close attention, in case the suspect tried anything funny. After all, he was their suspect for murder.

After a short exchange, the suspect suddenly spun around and was clearly yelling at Sherlock. John immediately started to close the distance. The man advanced towards Sherlock, making threats, fists clenched. Sherlock remained in character and started backing away, nervously denying the accusations against him. When the suspect grabbed him by the lapels of his suit, John sped up, but Sherlock clearly made a "wait" gesture that only he could see. So he approached slowly and as quietly as he could.

'Who the hell are you?'

'I-I-I- tol-told you before, S-Sir, I'm Mrs. Clearwater's ac-accountant.'

'And I told you I don't know this young woman, so leave me the hell alone.'

'But- but sir, all I need to know is whether or not she has placed an order with you-'

'Shut up!'

Right then, time seemed to have slowed down for Sherlock as the skill of the soldier was brought to the forefront. He wanted to simultaneously throw his head back and scream in frustration, as well as keep staring at the impending display of prowess. The thrill of seeing this side of John was a rare treat and, even at this very inopportune moment, he was still eager to see it.

The man made a fist and pulled it back to punch Sherlock. John hooked his right arm around the suspect's, blocking the movement. The suspect looked back, startled by the sudden halt of what should've been a very satisfying punch. John's left hand flashed in a blur, a strike so hard that the man spun around one hundred and eighty degrees. He lingered on the spot for a few seconds, his unseeing eyes not looking at Sherlock, but pointed upwards, towards his own eyebrows. Then he slowly dropped, unconscious.

'All right there, Sherlock?'

He blinked and time finally went back to normal speed. 'Argh, John. One more minute and I would have had him! I told you to wait!'

'I just saved you from having your teeth broken and that's all you have to say? Dear God, next time I'll let you get pummelled, you ungrateful bastard!'

Sherlock spun around, exasperated. Then his face changed. 'She has been here!' He ran towards the desk. 'Look, here!' Sherlock pulled his magnifier out, 'See? A long strand of red hair. And over there, under the shelves! Her broken heel! Oh, this is a massive clue container, not even Anderson will miss all these!'

John was annoyed, his knuckles really hurt from punching the suspect; and instead of a thank you all he got were complaints. But then, Sherlock put his hands on his shoulders and shook him slightly. 'This shed is like Christmas, John! He was inept in cleaning her traces because it's already so dusty and messy in here. The clues are everywhere!' And off he went again, magnifier in hand. 'Call Lestrade!'

He couldn't help it, Sherlock's enthusiasm could be very contagious, so his anger was momentarily forgotten. He called Greg, then went on to tie up the suspect and put him in a recovery position.

...

Later on, as Greg took the suspect away, John saw Sherlock following them with his eyes. He remained impassive as usual, nothing showing on his face. But as the murderer bent to climb into a panda car, Sherlock's eyes gave him another once over. John pondered then, he might've been going on the wrong assumption about Sherlock's type, if he actually had any. It wasn't only Victor's beauty that had attracted him, then. Well, obviously Victor was smart, but John thought of his physical attributes this time. _Of course, I hadn't thought about it._ Thinking of all the men he had introduced to Sherlock, none were like Victor. The freckles might be a recent thing, just as the tanned colouring; Sherlock said he had been living in Australia for all these years. But both Victor and this suspect were blond, blue eyed, of similar body type. The difference was that the suspect had very short hair and was a bit more muscular.

...

That night, John was brushing his teeth after showering when he flipped the mirror. His eyes fell on his own face, and his hand slowed down as he looked into his own eyes, then his hair. His eyes widened a bit as he slowly lowered the toothbrush, his gaze roaming around his own face, sliding down to his arms and pecs. Then he took notice of the bags under his eyes, the lines on his forehead, the toothpaste foaming in the corners of his mouth and mentally slapped himself. He flipped the mirror away and finished brushing his teeth with renewed vigour.

...

To Sherlock, the most alarming thing about seeing Victor again was to learn that he was not as immune to his body's needs as he had previously thought. Even after all these years he had almost succumbed to disgustingly pedestrian primal urges.

Once the party had moved to the roof and they were left alone, Victor had kissed him. Sherlock understood then just how much he had missed his touch and kisses. More so than he had ever acknowledged to himself. In those brief seconds, Victor had shattered all those years of self schooling and reasoning against sentiment. All the barriers and protection he had erected around his mind had vanished, just as inconsequential as Mycroft's threats. He felt the old fire running through his body, the overwhelming silence in his brain, the luxuriant feel of lips hungrily devouring his and strong arms around him.

It was fortunate and yet frustrating that Victor had let go once he heard people returning. Sensing the danger that surrounded Victor, in the form of irrationality of emotions and the pulling abyss of drugs, his mind went into self preservation mode. No, he couldn't abandon The Work and lose all he had achieved so far. He thought of John, and of how much happier he had been ever since he found someone who loved it almost as much as he did. The Work was everything and all he needed. To have someone like Victor in his life, consuming all his thoughts and aspirations wouldn't allow room for it. Inspired, Sherlock crafted the lie.

Yet, he had underestimated the impact of that kiss. It made him a lot more vulnerable to his body's demands.

On this last case, he had gone after a suspect and almost mucked up everything. When the man turned, Sherlock felt a jolt. He was obviously attractive, but there was something else. In that very second he asked himself, _Why this jolt?_

The man's physical appearance was similar to Victor's, but that wasn't a good enough reason. He had seen countless attractive men over the years, but the only resulting reaction was, at best, an intellectual acknowledgement of their aesthetically pleasing transport and were quickly forgotten.

Not this time. As the suspect turned away from him, he scanned the muscular body in front of him. _With his hair closely cropped like this, he also looks like John, on steroids. Down to his glutes._ Then he thought, _Down to his glutes? How do I know this?_

Well, for one thing, he knew John better than he knew anyone else. He had always read others, but to actually _know_ someone, that set John apart. He was truly unique, even in that. Sherlock had never thought about John's physical appearance beyond what he had read in him on that very first day they met. He was just John, in his homely jumpers, chasing criminals at his side, always reliable, his gun ready. Unlike Victor - or the string of men John had tried to introduce Sherlock to -, he didn't have an obvious beauty that turned heads. But there was something more to John than just that. Perhaps that's what all the women he dated saw in him.

 _But then, why this jolt?_

He thought again of John knocking out the suspect with only one punch. Despite his annoyance at the interrupted interrogation, he still had pride in John's abilities. He smiled to himself. _Perhaps not polished or subtle, but still efficient, economic in movement and aesthetically pleasing, as far as fights go._

Then he felt an alarming heat rush through his body. At first he eyes went wide. Then his lips tugged down.

 _Oh, ridiculous. How predictably boring that my transport would focus its attention in the nearest person around. Surely, this is a passing phase, until Victor's influence dies down. Nothing to be concerned about. It's just John._

* * *

A/Note: Is it Sherlock? ;)

For those of you in my time zone, sorry for the late hour...


	4. A fine one

**4\. A fine one**

A week later, Sherlock was working through the night. His experiment was at a crucial stage and it was truly exciting. He just needed to concentrate and make sure to add only one drop. He exhaled slowly to steady himself, held the pipette above the test tube on the holder and... the chemical reaction was fast. The liquid inside the test tube foamed at an alarming speed, the thick mixture overflowed and fell over a few glass slides on the table. Reflexively he tried to move them out of the way and in his haste, knocked a glass cup down. The noise was disproportionately loud considering the small amount of damage. Luckily, there was nothing of importance on the slides that were ruined.

Soon there were footsteps hurrying down the stairs.

'Sherlock!'

'Calm yourself, John. Nothing happened.'

'Nothing happened? Nothing happened! It's bloody fucking three... (he glanced at the clock on the wall) forty two in the bloody fucking morning! Why couldn't you just wait until tomorrow to break stuff? I nearly had a heart attack, jolting awake like that, thinking the worst-'

Sherlock wasn't listening anymore. Once he looked up, he saw John pacing around angrily, arms flaying wildly, while wearing nothing but his pants. John favoured the smallish "bikini" style as opposed to regular "y" fronts and Sherlock finally understood why: they had a more flattering line. As he gestured and paced angrily, Sherlock's eyes followed his moves: his shoulders, his pecs, his nipples, his scars, his biceps, his deltoids, his abs, his back, his buttocks, his thighs, his calves, his feet. There was a definite spike in Sherlock's heart rate, his body temperature increased, blood rushed to his face. He was thankful for the goggles - they kept John from noticing his wandering stare - and the low light required by the experiment - which made his flush less obvious. The low light also played in the different planes of muscles before him, creating light and shadow that sculpted John's body before his very eyes.

 _Like a sculpture from the Hellenistic period._

He came to an epiphany that stunned and paralysed him.

'Sherlock! Have you heard a single word of what I just said?'

Wrestled away from his astonished state, he quickly averted his gaze from John's crotch. 'Hm? What?' As Sherlock's body acted without his consent, he was suddenly thankful for the crowded table between them.

'Argh! Sherlock, I swear! Sometimes talking to you is like talking to a wall. I'm gonna go upstairs and attempt to go back to sleep and you'd better be quiet or I'll come down and make you. And clean up the mess on the floor or I'll have you sweep it with your tongue tomorrow!'

'Technically, it's already "tomorrow".'

'YOU KNOW VERY WELL WHAT I MEANT!'

Unconsciously John did a military turn - quite impressive, given the fact that he was barefoot - and marched angrily upstairs. Sherlock followed him with his gaze running up and down his body, committing to memory what he was seeing.

 _I was right about his glutes._

...

Once back in his room, John caught a glimpse of himself on the wardrobe's mirror and did a double take. In his haste, thinking only of Sherlock's safety, he had just rushed downstairs... wearing only his pants! He must have looked comic and ridiculous, yelling and scolding Sherlock, all self righteous while nearly naked. He groaned, sat on the bed and flopped down with his face on the pillow, trying to smother his embarrassment.

...

Sherlock just stood there, still replaying the scene of John's body in his mind. His thoughts were running at dizzying speeds in his mind.

 _Like a sculpture from the Hellenistic period._

He hadn't thought of the Hellenistic period ever since... Victor. He thought he had deleted such useless knowledge. Victor had a scientific mind, but also a liking for Greek art, especially of that period, with its abundance of realistic male nudes. He had often compared Sherlock's body to such sculptures, even though he was much slighter than the usual mass of muscles. He realised, in that moment, that he had failed to delete noise due to sentimentality. His lips tugged down. After all this time, he should've been able to delete it.

Victor always said men were visual creatures, and that just looking at sculptures (and paintings or photos) of naked men were enough to excite him and lead him to want to touch Sherlock. But most of the time - he used to say - just looking at Sherlock was enough.

He shuddered. Whenever Victor touched him, something powerful took over his transport and he was unable to resist or think. Ultimately, that had been his undoing. It wasn't until a few years later that he came to resent and despise his own lack of control under Victor's touch. One of the reasons why he avoided physical contact nowadays was to combat such weakness. And yet... after all these years he still had failed to master his own body. He had, once again, almost succumbed to Victor's touch.

Then, there was his dismay at the latest of his transport's betrayal.

Unlike Victor, Sherlock had never been a "visual" man. To him, the bleached statues of centuries past were no more compelling than still life paintings. Nothing that he'd see was ever enough to cause in him similar effects to what Victor experienced. Sherlock was only affected by touch. And it was always Victor who initiated it.

But what had just happened now? What had caused such physical reaction in him? If he had never been visually affected, why had this happened? And with John? The images of contrasting light and shadow, smoothness of muscles and the ruggedness of scars, the soft fuzz of hair reflecting golden in John's thighs, all danced in front of his eyes again. And again, his body rebelled and reacted on its own. Once more, he felt the heat spreading from his core to the rest of his body, making him sweat.

He shook his head and looked around the kitchen, surprised to return to reality. He took a step and flinched; he had forgotten the broken glass. He jumped on one foot towards the rubbish bin, removed and discarded his glass studded sock. The cuts weren't too serious, fortunately. He looked back at the floor. He didn't doubt John's anger, he might as well do as he had threatened. Sherlock sighed and went on to sweep up the mess, stepping on his heel to protect the injured foot. _Just to keep John's anger at bay, of course._ He stopped at the bathroom to clean the small cuts and cover them with plaster. He was dawdling and he knew it. He had run out of defences and excuses.

Now he was free to go into his bedroom and lock the doors.

And this was really not good.

...

John and Mrs. Hudson kept exchanging hushed conversations; Sherlock had been way too quiet for the past couple of days, considering that there hadn't been a case in a week. They were expecting him to go off like a bomb any time now. Both prayed for a case.

* * *

A/Note: Things will only get hotter from now on, Sherlock. ;)

Please review? You guys have been so quiet... let me know you're out there and how I'm doing.


	5. The case of the separate beds

A/Notes: Finally we arrive at the case!

If I remember correctly (it's been a while), in the ACD stories they always omit their clients' last names, as if to protect their identity, so I followed that.

Sorry for the late post! Enjoy!

* * *

 **5\. The case of the separate beds**

The current case took them just north of Oxford. A young woman was found dead, locked inside her flat. The local police pronounced it death by natural causes. Kathryn D. was lying on her sofa, one arm dangling towards the floor when her mother found her. There were no signs of struggle or a break in; as far as anybody could tell, nothing was taken and the neighbours didn't hear anything. The police found several sets of fingerprints; there were "possibly two unidentified individuals" amongst them. It wasn't until the autopsy came out that it was determined that the cause of death was a heart attack. That's when the police abandoned the investigation. Her mother contacted them via John's blog.

She was most alarmed by the fact that Kathryn also had a faint ligature mark in the front part of her neck, as if she had been attacked from behind. The autopsy also revealed that there were signs that she had had intercourse in the previous hours, but nothing that suggested violence. As far as she knew, her daughter had no boyfriend at the time. Sherlock didn't think much of it at first and was about to dismiss it as a "three" in level of difficulty. But, towards the end of the message, Mrs. D. mentioned that the police had found cigarette ends outside the kitchen door. According to her, some of these had lipstick on them and Kathryn didn't smoke.

The mere mention of cigarettes always excited Sherlock. Not only it proved his research on cigarette ashes to be invaluable, but there were always clues to be found on them. From the brand and price (a tip on the smoker's socio-economic status), provenance (sometimes pointing towards specific ethnic groups or nationalities), how much of it remained (personality traits, state of mind), how many were smoked (passage of time), and of course, DNA. _Only some had lipstick stains. Suggestive._

...

Once they arrived at their B&B, John did the check-in. The young woman behind the counter glanced at Sherlock as he stood a few steps behind, typing searches into his phone, then at John. He had a feeling he knew what she was thinking: _Older and ugly short man paying for a room for himself and a younger handsome companion._ 'It should be under Watson, double twin room,' he said, with some satisfaction that it was a double twin.

She smiled professionally and looked at her computer screen, 'Ah yes, Mr. Watson, I have you here for two nights. You'll be staying in the "Red Room". It's an ensuite, upstairs, second door to the right. Is this a special occasion?'

'Nope, business trip,' he was happy to clarify.

'Ah, yes, of course,' she glanced again at Sherlock. _Yeah, right!_ 'Breakfast is served between seven and nine in the morning at the common room through those doors,' she pointed. 'There are fixings for a quick tea or coffee in your room. Have a pleasant stay,' she handed him the keys. She glanced at Sherlock involuntarily, disappointed that he didn't even look at her. _What a waste!_

'Come on Sherlock, let's go,' he said, annoyed at her not-so-subtle loud thinking and snooping. As they climbed the stairs he hoped it would be a decent room. On short notice, he tried to book the place that was the least expensive, had free wi-fi and preferably, breakfast. He was always wary when a website had no pictures of the rooms themselves. In one past experience, this had meant a horrible looking bedroom. A huge disappointment on that particular occasion, seeing it was meant to be a romantic getaway. Today he just hoped for a clean one.

When he opened the door and looked to his left, he was momentarily dismayed. It looked like there was only one large bed in the room.

On close inspection though, he realised there were actually two twin beds with just about a centimetre between the mattresses. What made it look like one bed was the single wood panelled headboard attached to the wall behind both beds. The bedroom being so small, this way there was just enough room to fit a small bedside table on each side. _Who the Hell thought this arrangement was the best possible way to furnish a room?_ He could understand the bed closest to the door being pushed away from it, but there was no reason to move the other bed towards the centre except someone being too lazy to make two headboards.

 _Ah, that's it, a single long headboard and the room could go either way. Versatile. Clever. Annoying._ He rolled his eyes imagining what people would say if they could see that. _Well, nobody will know._ But it aggravated him that the entire universe seemed to conspire against him, making them look like a couple.

To his right, opposite the beds, there was a very narrow door towards the loo. He peeked inside. It was the smallest bathroom he had ever seen. One could sit at the toilet, reach for the sink and almost reach for the controls in the shower ( _well, Sherlock probably could_ ). A small closet was tucked in between the bathroom and the entry, with a long mirror on its door. There was also a very tiny desk and chair on the space between the bathroom door and the window wall, with a narrow shelf above it with tea and coffee fixings, and a flat screen tv attached impossibly high on the wall. Clearly the most recent update had chopped the room to fit the modern bathroom and make it more marketable as an ensuite. But the room was clean, had updated plumbing, was contemporary in decor and, well, it was cozy, almost romantic, given the colours. Thankfully it wasn't red all over, but there were touches of it on the duvet, pillows, pictures on the wall, and the lampshades. There were also two plush white dressing gowns, each folded atop a bed.

John was not the only one affected by the room's set up. Sherlock kept his outward impassiveness, but inside he experienced an onrush of disparate reactions that made no sense whatsoever. He thought it looked very intimate. With his wingspan, John would be within his reach...

* * *

A/Note: Ah, and what Johnlock writer could stay away from the temptation of the "sleeping in the same bed" theme?

A long time ago I did see a picture of an English B&B's bedroom just like that. I thought it was bizarre and impractical to change the sheets, albeit symmetrically pleasing. That gave me this idea, a different spin on the theme. I couldn't find that bedroom picture again. It was a cute room.


	6. Kathryn's flat

A/Note: My apologies for yesterday's ultra late post. To my fellow Americans, Happy Thanksgiving! To my fellow "fanfiction-ers", Happy Thursday! Enjoy two chapters almost in a row. Sorry they're a bit short.

Thank you to those of you who are reading and following this story. Things will really pick up after this chapter.

* * *

 **6\. Kathryn's flat**

They met Mrs. D. at Kathryn's flat, a tiny two-story townhouse, attached to other four units, hers being at the end. According to Mrs. D., the immediate neighbours had been away on holiday, that's why nobody heard anything. Mrs. D. lives an hour away and Kathryn was expecting her that Sunday. She said she knew the local chief of police and that, as a favour to her, he'd let them see the case files. With great pain, she pointed the sofa where Kathryn was found. John was at his best, offering comfort and a shoulder for her to cry on. Both Sherlock and Mrs. D. were grateful for it.

Sherlock went though the entire flat with care, examining everything. He spent time outside, at the front pavement, garden and backyard. He collected samples of the cigarette ends as well as ashes. He checked the victim's make-up arsenal and took colour samples of all her lipsticks. He collected samples from her bedroom, dusted doorknobs - as well as several surfaces on the bedroom - for fingerprints. And finally, he turned on Kathryn's laptop, hacked his way in and went straight to her browsing history.

He finally came back downstairs and found John and Mrs. D. sitting in the kitchen's tiny table, a pot of tea between them, mugs in their hands. She stood up, anxious. John looked at him, clearly apprehensive that Sherlock's usual lack of tact would present itself.

'I'll have to take this laptop, Mrs. D. It'll take me a while to go through this.'

'What do you think, Mr Holmes? Was it murder? Do you have any ideas as to what happened?'

'Four so far. Come John, off to the police station now,' and he turned to leave. She stared at Sherlock's back, her mouth hanging open, then at John.

John was sorry that she had expected more. 'Mrs. D., I promise we'll keep you informed once we know more.' He just couldn't bring himself to hurry after Sherlock and leave her alone in the house, so he insisted and did the wash up quickly.

He held her arm gently. 'Now, let's get you out of here, shall we?'

Outside, Sherlock was already gone.

'But... he didn't say anything!'

'I'm sorry Mrs. D., that's just how he is. He might even already know what happened by now, but he won't talk until he has definitive answers or proof. I'm really sorry for your loss, Mrs. D.'

'Thank you Dr. Watson. You're a kind man.'

...

When John made it to the police station, Sherlock was sitting with the Chief of Police, looking into folders as the man drawled. The Chief looked up as John knocked on the door. 'Yes?'

Before John could say anything, Sherlock spoke, 'Chief Inspector Barnes, my colleague Dr. Watson. He'll be going over the autopsy papers and assisting on the investigation.'

'How do you do?' John shook his hand.

Mr. Barnes was in his sixties, a barrel shaped man with a mop of silver hair and smallish reading spectacles. John wondered if he ever dressed as Father Christmas, as he even had the rosy cheeks. The man seemed perplexed.

'No offence Dr. Watson, but I'm already doing Mrs. D. a favour letting Mr. Holmes look into the case files. She didn't mention he would bring his own pathologist. Mr. Holmes, this is highly-'

'Chief Inspector,' Sherlock interrupted, 'the report says Kathryn D. died of a heart attack. Surely you have nothing to lose by letting us just take a peek? It's unlikely that we would leak any sensitive information to the press or anything of the sort.'

'But Mrs. D. said you have a blog where all the cases are explained in detail-'

'No, I don't. Dr. Watson here does. And it's only after the cases are solved-'

 _Not all solved_ , John thought.

'-and/or he has been given permission to blog about them,' Sherlock continued. 'Any sensitive cases or information are always omitted if need be. I assure you, everything will be above board,' he flashed his most radiant (and fake - John could tell) smile.

Chief Inspector Barnes seemed to have a perpetually baffled face; it showed the struggle within as he deviated from standard procedure. 'I don't think this is appropriate- '

'Please Sir,' John piped in. 'We just want to help Mrs. D. We'll do our best to keep you informed should anything arise.'

The Chief paused, looking from one to the other, then sighed dejectedly, 'Very well. Dr. Watson, I was just about to explain to Mr. Holmes here, I've known Mrs. D. for many years and I just couldn't bring myself to discuss some of the autopsy finds with her.'

John raised his eyebrows a bit, trying to encourage the man to speak.

Visibly embarrassed, the Chief Inspector haltingly continued, 'There were, eh - signs - of two individuals in Kathryn's - ahem - flat in the hours before her death.'

Sherlock's patience was growing thin, so he thought it would be best to save all three from an unproductive stuttering conversation. 'Understood, Chief. We will read the autopsy's report, but won't mention it to Mrs. D. unless absolutely necessary. Could we have copies of these? Please?' He added hastily, putting on his most innocent smile.

Half an hour later, the befuddled Chief had let them walk away with copies of the files.


	7. The case file

**Warning:** mention of rape in their case analysis, but only in passing. Not pertinent to the case itself.

A/Note: I'd like to thank **daisukemyuzic** and **kyliemylie15** for favoriting this story at such an early stage. That's a lot of faith and I feel honored to have your trust. I hope I won't disappoint you and that you'll continue to like it as it develops. Please enjoy!

* * *

 **7\. The case file**

When they entered their room, Sherlock threw his coat and suit jacket on the bed and started unpacking his testing equipment onto the small desk.

'Sometimes I can't believe the things you get away with,' John shook his head.

'Easy, the Chief knows there's more to it than what the autopsy says, but cannot continue the investigation. He welcomes a solution, but has to put up a struggle for propriety's sake, to clear his own conscience. Now we have the files and can examine the unfiltered information. Look at the crime scene photos.'

John took the folder and saw the pictures. She had been pretty. Short blond hair, nice figure, young. He sighed. She was lying on her sofa and for some reason it struck him as poignant to see her painted toenails. All this attention to detail, now gone to waste. They were done in a very unusual shade. Well, unusual for him, he supposed. It was bold and dark in a metallic hue, but grainy, as if there were pebbles of metal in it. She was wearing a jumper with a high collar, tracksuit bottoms; something she'd wear at home to be comfortable. So she wasn't expecting visitors, other than her mum. Her right arm was hanging down, touching the carpet, her left lying alongside her body. Her face was turned towards the right side, facing the camera and it was at peace. She could've been sleeping, except...

'What do you see, John?' Sherlock was now placing small bags with particles of cream coloured flecks, hairs and fibres over the desk.

'Well, she looks like she could be sleeping...' he said tentatively. He always hated when Sherlock put him on the spot like this, he never knew what he was "missing".

'But?'

'But for the fact that her position doesn't look like someone who went to sleep. Like she was placed on the sofa, more like it. It's the way her knees and left arm are slightly bent.'

'Good! Her neck?'

'Well, there's nothing to see, it's covered.'

'Exactly, what does that tell us?'

'I don't know, Sherlock!'

'Look at the autopsy photos.'

'Yes, you can definitely see a faint ligature mark in these. But didn't the autopsy say heart attack?'

'Yes, but what else do you see?'

John looked closely, looking past the more obvious line on her neck. Then he looked at the other autopsy photos.

'There are other marks on her neck, nape and shoulders.'

'And what do you make of those, Doctor?'

'They look... like hickeys to me.'

Sherlock gave him a smile.

'But what does that mean, Sherlock? What does it tell you?'

Sherlock gave him an impatient look. 'Go over the report.'

Half an hour later, John finished going through the report. Sherlock looked at him and arched an eyebrow.

'Nothing amiss. Cause of death, heart attack. No indication that the ligature mark actually killed her. Nothing under her fingernails. I can see what the Chief was trying _not_ to talk about. There were small lacerations both on her labia and anus suggesting two individuals, but nothing conclusive about the nature of her last sexual encounter. Could have been consensual, only a bit intense. No sperm found, they used condoms. Small marks over her neck, nape and shoulders, but most likely caused during intercourse. No other bruises otherwise. Toxicology report came back negative for any drugs or poisons. Last meal was breakfast, eaten between ten and twelve on the day she died. Hour of death, anywhere between one and three in the afternoon, when Mrs. D. found her.'

'Did she shower that day?'

'Hmm, I think so... here, the coroner noted that the genitals were clean. Is that important? Does it mean anything?'

'Rapists sometimes resort to condoms, so not to leave evidence, but most of the times they don't. Victims usually shower afterwards - psychologically it helps to purge the trauma -, but I don't see it being the case in this situation. No signs of break-in, the lack of sperm, no drugs, no bruises and the presence of hickeys: it all suggests it was consensual. She was fully dressed and covering her neck so her mother wouldn't see the marks. All these signs point towards the fact that Miss Kathryn led a busy social life.'

'Sherlock!'

'What? I'm not judging the deceased, I'm only stating the obvious truth.'

'Just... just don't talk like that in front of Mrs. D., will you?'

Sherlock paused, obviously not understanding how he should talk otherwise, so John let go. 'Anything else on the files?'

'Nothing of importance,' Sherlock shrugged as he prepared some slides. 'Her ex-boyfriend was questioned, but he did have an alibi. He had travelled to Liverpool by train on Saturday morning and didn't return until Sunday evening. Witnesses corroborate his presence. He was attending a cousin's wedding the night before and stayed at his relatives' house. In the morning all the family congregated at the groom's parents' for brunch. They also interviewed her co-workers but no one knew anything. Ugh, I wished I had seen the crime scene.'

'Mrs. D. mentioned Kathryn's ex-boyfriend. She said the break up caused a bit of a problem, that Kathryn was very annoyed with him being so clingy after she dumped him. Plus she also gave me one of her co-workers' name. There was a fellow named Kevin that kept saying inappropriate things to her, always trying and failing to woo her. Here, she handed me Kathryn's phone. She charged it, but didn't know the passcode. The police couldn't figure it out, so she asked for it, to hand it to us. Another favour, with the promise of returning any pertinent information and the phone to the Chief once we're done with it.'

'Good, go over her texts, messages, anything relevant on that mobile. Try 5643.'

John did and it worked.

'How-?'

' "Joie" as in _Joie de vivre_. There was a picture on the wall of her bedroom with that saying. Her laptop passcode was "Joie5643".'

Not a minute later, John interrupted him. 'Sherlock! Look! Her last texts to her friend Amy!'

As he held the phone for Sherlock to read, he added, 'Mrs. D. said they were best friends. These start in the middle of the night, before she died.'

 **Got amazing things to tell you in the morning! :D** Sent on Sunday, at 2:17am.

 **K. Text me tomorrow.** Received on Sunday, at 2:20am.

 **They just left.** Sent on Sunday, at 1:13pm.

 **Let me know when ur ready.** Received on Sunday, at 1:14pm.

 **K.** Sent on Sunday, at 1:15pm.

'Amy must have been expecting these texts, she knows something,' John said excitedly.

Sherlock couldn't help smiling at John's enthusiasm, they were so much alike when it came to solving the cases. _I couldn't have found a better partner._


	8. Her interests

A/Note: I'd like to also thank **ZeroYouth** and **AllyCat2000** (good to see you again!) for favoriting this story this early. You guys have so much faith! Also thanks to **kyliemylie15** for not only going back to my older stories, but leaving a nice review for The Catalyst. I was going to reply directly to you, but couldn't. I'm thrilled you liked it!

Thank you, thank you, thank you! You guys are the Johnlock soup for my ff writer's soul.

* * *

 **8\. Her interests**

Amy was Kathryn's best friend and they managed to meet at her flat after she was done at work. She was voluptuous, with shoulder length straight black hair, brown eyes, very pretty. Her eyes were puffy and red.

'Amy,' John said, 'we're here because we saw the texts you've exchanged with Kathryn in the middle of the night, then around lunchtime of the day she died.'

She broke down and started crying.

John said in a soothing voice, 'Take your time.'

She tried to control her tears. 'Sorry, sorry. Dr. Watson, she sent me those texts right before she died. But we never did get to talk. Her mum went over the flat for a visit that afternoon and found her dead.' She burst into tears again. John patted her hand as Sherlock looked away, uncomfortable with her emotional outburst and John's attention.

'I'm sorry,' she sniffed. 'We've known each other since we were six.'

Sherlock couldn't contain himself, 'You replied to her text in the middle of the night. You were clearly waiting for that text. Why? What do you know? Who had just left?'

John shot him a stern look, while Amy blew her nose and sighed. 'She wanted to try new things. A month ago she joined a site that matched people with similar tastes. Similar sexual interests. She was contacted by a couple and they exchanged a few emails, met a few times at different caffs in Oxford, and eventually she decided to try a threesome. They were to meet for dinner, then go to her flat that evening.'

'What do you know about the couple?' Sherlock had a glint in his eyes, _finally we're getting somewhere!_

'She was very enthusiastic about them, she said both looked like models and were super nice and fun. The man was - in her words - "astonishingly handsome, seductive and sexy". She was a bit nervous, of course, she had never been with another woman before. It took her a while to come around that fact, but after a few meetings, she made up her mind and decided to give it a go.'

John asked, 'Didn't that worry you?'

'Of course it did! I tried to talk her out of it. Not because I was being moralistic about it, but because you just don't know who these people are. I'd be much more comfortable if she tried things with someone she actually knew, not someone she just met online. I was very nervous for her and made her promise to text me and let me know she was all right.' Her eyes filled with tears again and she blew her nose again. 'We never did get to talk.'

'I'm sorry Amy.' That was always the hardest part on a case, dealing with people's grief. John always felt there was really nothing he could say to comfort the victim's family and friends.

Sherlock could read John all too well. _Stupid girl, stupid sentiment, stupid voluptuous body. She's too young for him and he knows it. Even though he wouldn't pursue anything with her, he finds her attractive. He's desperately trying not to stare at her breasts. Perhaps Victor was right. Men are such visual creatures. Pathetic!_ 'Why didn't you tell that to the police? They might have been the last ones to see her alive,' Sherlock asked, untouched by her tears. He felt John's disapproving stare at his tone.

'Mr. Holmes, the police said it was a heart attack. I'm convinced they had nothing to do with it, she was alive when they left her. This was something so private. It's not something you want the whole world to know about. And unless there's the need for it, I won't betray her trust. I just can't imagine letting her mum know about all this.'

'Too late, the autopsy and the fingerprints already suggest two people involved,' Sherlock said dismissively. 'The only information you've added was to confirm that one of them was a woman. Not that it was needed, given all the evidence found in her flat.'

'Please don't judge her, Mr. Holmes, she wasn't promiscuous or anything like that. She had an outgoing and fun personality, but had only had three boyfriends in the past. Jeff, the last one, was too boring and thought she was just being weird whenever she asked him to try something new,' Amy said. 'That's why she broke up with him. '

'Was he the jealous type?' John asked, trying to take control of the questioning before Sherlock went off on her.

'No. Wait no, that's not right. The thing is, he didn't talk much, so it was hard to tell what he was thinking most of the time. I always felt he was a bit creepy, to be honest.'

'How did he react when she broke up with him?'

'Well, at first he didn't react much. Again, most of the time he kept his emotions to himself. But then, for a while he kept calling her, trying to talk to her at work - they worked at the same office. She asked him not to do that at work, it would make both of them look bad. Eventually, I think he accepted it.'

'Did things get unpleasant?'

'For a while it did, she wanted to quit her job, but couldn't find anything else. Things eventually calmed down, so she stayed. Mind you, not unpleasant as in stalk-y, or violent. Just tense, which was normal under the circumstances. I told her, that's why you shouldn't date someone you work with.'

'Did she ever tell you what she wanted to try that he didn't?' John was trying to determine if it involved anything dangerous.

She hesitated, her face flushed. 'She said mostly toys, and he might've even agreed to a few in the end. Either way, it didn't help their relationship. She just wasn't in love with him, that's all.'

'Has she ever mentioned another co-worker named Kevin?'

'Has she ever! He's the office creep. She complained about him a lot. He would compliment her clothes every single day. But the thing is, there is something in his manner that gives you a bad vibe when he says it. She felt he was constantly checking out her body, so she started wearing boring conservative clothes to work, to hide her shape. She was, um, big on top, you know? So she wore baggy blouses buttoned up to her neck, dresses with no waistline, that type of thing. Every now and then he'd mention in passing he'd be going to a pub after work and hint she'd be welcome to join him. Granted, she said he did this with all the other young women in the office. Once, he actually told one of the girls - who's only nineteen, mind you - that there were many very attractive women in the office and that many of them wore clothes that were too provocative for the workplace. The poor girl wasn't sure he was talking about her, or what. He just kept going on and on about it. At that point, Kathryn stopped wearing skirts to work.'

'Has anyone ever called him out on harassment?'

'The girls complained to a senior manager, who tried her best to talk to him and make him understand boundaries, but he just doesn't get it. Or pretends he doesn't. He's the bookkeeper and has been there for ten years or so, so it's unlikely they'll get rid of him. He's very religious and "holier-than-thou". Management likes him, they say he's a good worker. Between Kevin and Jeff, she would've left that place in a heartbeat had she found something else.'

'How long did Kathryn work there?'

'Hmm, I think almost two years. She always said she couldn't imagine making it to five. She wanted to move on. She was still looking for another job.'

'And what exactly did she do there?'

'It's a law firm, so she did research for the solicitors - anything ranging from birth certificates, newspaper articles, to looking into court rulings to find out if there were precedents in one matter or another. Just dogsbody work, really. She said it wasn't too bad, if it weren't for Jeff and Kevin.'

Sherlock piped in, 'What kind of cases do they usually deal with?'

'They do a bit of everything, wills, divorces, corporate contracts. I don't think they do criminal law.'

...

'Where to now, Sherlock?'

'Time to learn what exactly Jeff _didn't_ want to do in bed.'

John paused. He could sense something was off. Despite the neutral tone Sherlock seemed irritated, but John couldn't pinpoint what could have possibly caused it. Sherlock was already far away with his purposeful and determined stride, so he brushed it aside and sped up after him.


	9. The ex-boyfriend

A/Note: I just want to thank all of you who are not only reading my story, but setting up follows, favorites, as well as going to my other stories and doing the same. I'm so grateful for having grabbed your attention. Every time I publish I worry people will give up because my beginnings are "slow". Not on purpose, but even my beta says that I do that. Well, we're almost halfway, so the story will definitely pick up from now on, both on the case and on the Johnlock front. Yay!

Thanks **kyliemylie15** and **wibblywobblydragonlady** (hope I didn't mispell your names) for your encouragement. I appreciate that you took the time to write me.

Enjoy!

* * *

 **9\. The ex-boyfriend**

'Kathryn was a bit too wild for me,' Jeff mumbled.

'How so?'

'Well, that's a bit personal, Dr. Watson.'

'I know and I apologise. But she could've fallen in with the wrong people, so I have to ask you.'

'Why? She died of a heart attack!'

'We know. We're just trying to get a full picture of her.'

'Why though? Is there anything suspicious about her death?'

'That's what we're trying to find out. Anything could be important at this stage. If something did happen to her, wouldn't you like to know and help?'

Jeff sighed and nodded. He lowered his forehead on the heel of his hand for a few seconds to recollect himself. John had been a bit surprised with Jeff. From what John had gathered about Kathryn, it seemed highly unlikely he'd be a good match for her exuberance and boldness. He was quiet and shy, had slightly crooked teeth, blue eyes and curly brown hair, which he wore very short. When Jeff looked up again, the dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced. 'In our last months together she kept complaining that she wanted to try different things. Uh, you know. In the bedroom.'

'Did you try to comply?'

Jeff was embarrassed, 'She showed me a site that sells all sorts of, eh, toys.'

'Did she ever buy anything?'

'Um, there was a- a dildo, so I could, you know, act like two blokes at the same time. There was also a- a numbing spray to allow her to, um, to- to take more in her mouth. Some flexible jelly rings for me. A harness to support her up against the door, like a seat of sorts. I think that's about it.'

'Did you ever try any of these?'

'I felt-. No. I didn't.'

John asked, 'Was that why you two split?'

'Pretty much. Those things were just too-, I'm just not-, they are not my thing. I just told her it wasn't going to work between us.'

'So you broke up with her?'

'I did.'

'How did she take it? How long ago was that?'

'Em, this was about two months ago. I think she was upset for a while. But we did work at the same place, so we managed to stay civil, be adults about it and get over it.'

'When did you learn about her death?'

'Only on the following day, on Monday. Her mum called our office to let us know.'

'How did you feel about it?'

'Shock, of course. She was too young! And heart attack? There's really no rhyme and reason in it, she was always so healthy. I'm grieving, too, you know? We were together for ten months, it wasn't just some fling. I really liked her. I wished-.'

But he went quiet and shook his head after a while.

'Did she tell you anything about meeting someone new?'

'No, but I got the sense she did have someone new.'

'Why do you think that?'

He looked tired and sad, 'She was- she seemed happy and excited lately, like a kid on the night before Christmas, you know? It had been going on for two weeks or so at that point. I'm not dumb, I could tell.'

'Did you ask her about it?'

He shifted his eyes down towards his hands. 'No.'

John thought it was one of the most transparent lies he'd seen lately and, if he could tell, Sherlock wouldn't even need more pressing and already had all the answers on this. So he changed his line of questioning. 'Has she ever said anything to you about one of your co-workers?'

'You mean Kevin? Yeah, of course. She complained about him every single day.'

'What do you know about him?'

'Why? Do you suspect him?'

'As I said, anything could be important at this stage.'

'Well, I'm not a friend of his. He's a bit annoying, to be honest. Always wants to be right and teach you something, just because he has been there for so long. He used to live with his mother, until she passed away a couple of years ago. Mind you, he's in his forties. I don't think he's ever married. He just leers over the women in our office. Kathryn complained that he always said something that made her uncomfortable.'

'Did that ever bother you? That he'd say something to Kathryn while you two dated?'

'Of course it did. But Kathryn was so secretive about us dating - just because we worked together - that she pleaded for me not say anything to him. She worried that, in a confrontation, we'd both get fired. It would be our word against his.'

'Don't your bosses see it?'

'An old boys' club like that? They'd probably say Kevin hasn't actually done anything, and nothing that he said was dirty, so what's the fuss?'

'Does he do that to other women in the office?'

'All the pretty, younger ones. Some are even married. One of the girls thinks he's not a bad guy, but that he just doesn't have "social filters". Meaning, he doesn't know that what he says doesn't always sound as good as it does inside his head.'

John couldn't resist and threw a sideways glance at Sherlock as if saying "how about that?" He saw Sherlock containing an eye roll, looking away with a small sigh.

'Kathryn talked to Brenda, our office manager,' Jeff continued, unaware of the exchange, 'but there wasn't much she could really do. She tried her best to talk to Kevin and explain how creepy he was being - not in those words, of course - but I don't think it made any impression on him. And I know at least two other women also complained about him to her.'

Sherlock asked, 'Do you know what she had been working on last?'

That subject change threw Jeff off. 'Kathryn? No, I don't- we haven't- we weren't - talking much in that week before-'

Jeff covered his eyes and his face went red. It took a few seconds before he was able to look up.

...

'He lied about breaking up with her.'

'Obviously.'

'That looks suspicious to me. Why would he lie about it?'

'Pride, John. He's not telling, but he did try at least a few of those things and was still inept in bed. I did see the toys in her bedroom. Both the spray and the harness have obviously been used. The dildo and the rings were clean.'

John felt slightly embarrassed and remained quiet.

'Her bedroom showed clear evidence of sexual intercourse, despite the fact that they used condoms and disposed of them improperly down the toilet. I also found strands of long blond hair and straight black hair; a little on the long side for a man, but it must be his.'

Kathryn had short blond hair, John remembered from seeing the photos.

'That and the cigarette ends had already told me there were two people involved.'

'What did you make of him saying he never asked her about meeting someone new?'

'He did ask her, they had an argument, but she couldn't really explain the whole thing, which drove him mad. He was very jealous and said pretty hurtful things that he wishes he could take back. His grief is not only because she's dead but also he regrets the last things he said to her before she died.'

John was impressed with such insight in human behaviour coming from a self-proclaimed sociopath. 'Hm. Well, he does have a pretty good alibi. Otherwise it could've been an argument that went bad, him trying to choke her and her panicking and having a heart attack.' He paused, licking his lower lip. 'It was good to talk to Amy, though.'

'Why?' Sherlock wrinkled his nose. 'Just because she's young, pretty and voluptuous?'

'Sherlock!' John was surprised at hearing such venom. 'I was referring to what we learned about the couple!'

'Oh please, you're just saying that because you liked her physical appearance. Using the excuse of compassion to touch her.'

'I did not! When did I-? I only patted her hand! Can't you at least intellectually understand compassion? They were best friends, for God's sake. How would _you_ feel if I had a heart attack and died?'

Sherlock was surprised at the question. How would he feel if something were to happen to John? _Well, annoyed. I would have to go back to the skull to sound ideas. I would have to rely more on Mrs. Hudson for the unimportant things around the flat. Have her do the shopping. Tea. Laundry. General cleaning. I would have no back-up when going after criminals. Wouldn't be able to split and corner anyone. No more laughter at crime scenes. No more late night post case Chinese takeaways. No more shouting at crap telly. No more displays of John's skills. No more "brilliant" and "fantastic" and "amazing". No more of John' smiles. No more someone who understands and accepts me for who I am. No more..._

Sherlock had gone quiet and didn't really answer to that, his face blank. When it became clear that he wasn't going to get an answer, John felt a huge stab of disappointment. _If he really had an answer for it, he wouldn't be thinking about how to word it._ He swallowed the hurt he felt. _What did I expect?_ He looked away, trying to push those thoughts aside. Hoping his voice didn't betray his emotions, he changed the subject. 'Where to now?'

Sherlock was relieved John didn't press him for an answer. 'Now I must go through her laptop.'

'We should get something to eat first, Sherlock. The laptop will still be there when we get back.'

'It takes a while to retrieve deleted emails, John. There's a lot of work to do.'

They argued about it on the street, but in the end John had dinner alone, while Sherlock went back to the B&B to plunge into Kathryn's laptop.

* * *

A/note: Ah, and what comes after dinner? (Eyebrow waggle).


	10. Sleeping together

A/Note: And thank you also to **Nickylove** and **xxxwallflowerxxx** for favoriting my story. Sorry if I sound like a broken record, but you guys give me so much trust to do so before the end! I do hope I can meet your expectations.

Thanks to all of you out there!

* * *

 **10\. Sleeping together**

Sherlock was satisfied with his progress so far. The desk was crowded with his microscope and testing equipment, so he was sitting atop his bed, legs stretched in front of him. He had gone through Kathryn's laptop, checking her browsing history, looking through all folders, especially hidden ones, retrieving her deleted emails. _Very informative._ He looked up and found the room darker than he remembered. There was only the dimmer light from his bedside table lamp illuminating the room. Then he became aware of a soft slow breathing. He looked for the origin of it, knowing what he would see: John, so close to him, sleeping. He looked at the clock on the other side of the room: 2:47am.

John was lying on his side, facing away from the light.

If Sherlock were to stretch an arm, he could've touched the solid body next to him. He could also smell him and feel the warmth that irradiated from his body, making the room warmer, cozy... intimate. It was _almost_ as if they were in the same bed. Without thinking, Sherlock clicked the laptop shut and set it aside. Then he lay down facing John's back, getting as close to the edge as possible. _So close, almost like spooning._ He stared at his hair, his neck, his back, his shoulders, his hips, the bulk of his legs. The covers were down to his ribs, so most of his body was covered, its shape not as distinct. He stretched his hand and hovered it an inch away from the blond hair, then sliding it down without touching the t-shirt, as if caressing his whole body, feeling its heat. He went back to the hair and slowly lowered the back of two fingers until they lightly touched it. _So soft._

He inhaled deeply, unaware of the smile spreading on his face. Enjoying the familiar scent, slowing his breathing to match John's, he fell asleep. In the middle of a case.

...

John woke up on his back. His bed was extremely comfortable. He had a great night of sleep, nightmare free, like he hadn't had in a long time. He yawned contentedly, trying to prolong this pleasant time before he had to get up. He rubbed his eyes and turned to the bedside clock; 7:36, an hour later than his usual wake-up time. _Breakfast between seven and nine. I'm hungry. Better get some food before Sherlock decides to drag me out._ He turned his face towards the rest of the room and jumped; he was suddenly way too close to a sleeping Sherlock.

 _He's sleeping? In the middle of a case?_ He lifted his head and saw Sherlock lying on top of the duvet, still wearing his button down shirt, trousers and socks, just like the night before. Kathryn's laptop was on the other side of the bed, the table lamp on his side of the room still on. He smiled, _He must be tired, hasn't slept for about two nights in a row, I bet._ For a while, John indulged in looking at his flatmate's face. He studied the familiar features, noticed the eyelashes and eyebrows for the first time, being so close like this. His eyebrows were actually very wide. He smiled wondering if they would get bushier and grey as he got older, with strands sticking out, like some old men he'd seen. _This is almost like sleeping in the same bed._ Then he stared at the lips. _Such a unique shape... they look soft. So soft._ Sherlock shifted in his sleep, shaking John out of his reverie. He got up, showered and shaved quickly and went downstairs for breakfast.

...

He was thankful the common room had tiny small tables that sat two or four as opposed to a single long one. This way he wouldn't have to make small talk with strangers, except for a polite 'good morning' here and there. He just didn't want to explain (or avoid explaining) their reason for being there. A few of the tables were taken, mostly by foreign tourists. The breakfast looked delicious: fried eggs, bacon, bangers, toast, beans, coffee, tea, juice. He loaded his plate, poured himself a cuppa...

'Good morning, Mr. Watson,' said the young woman from the front desk. She was placing a fresh plate of pastries onto the serving table. After his reply she asked, 'Where's your friend?'

'Em, still sleeping.'

She turned away and smirked as she stacked the empty bread baskets. He felt his face burn, he could tell what she was thinking.

 _Worn him out, did you?_ She had gone out with friends the previous night and had seen their lights were still on quite late in the evening. 'Take a few scones for him, just in case he misses breakfast.'

'Thanks,' he said drily. 'I will.' _Gah! Why do they always think that?_

He stabbed his bangers with a little more force than needed.

...

'Oh, good morning, Sherlock.'

Sherlock was in mid stretch on the bed as he walked in. _He looks even taller like this._ John swiftly looked away and placed a small bundle on the shelf, busying himself with filling up the electric kettle in the bathroom sink. 'Brought you a couple of scones. You should eat something today.'

'Where were you? Breakfast?'

'Yes. Didn't expect you to sleep in the middle of a case.'

Sherlock groaned, 'Neither did I. Waste of time. You should've woken me up.' He rubbed his eyes and sat up, swinging his legs to the side, 'Are you making tea?'

'Unless you prefer coffee.'

'Tea is fine.'

Sherlock went to the bathroom and, after a few bumping sounds followed closely by muttered words, came out looking annoyed.

'Lilliputian room! Why bother adding such a small bathroom?'

John looked up and chuckled, 'Sorry, it was all I could find at such short notice that wasn't exorbitant. On the plus side, the beds are comfortable - even you fell asleep in yours -, their breakfast is fantastic and they do have free wi-fi.'

'Spectacular,' Sherlock grumbled.

'Glad you like it, Your Grumpiness. Here. Have some tea.'

Sherlock grunted, grabbed a scone and sat down by the desk. He turned to look at John who, for lack of a better place, had sat on the edge of his own bed, facing the window. Then he simply lay back, folding his arms behind his head, turning his face to the side so they could talk. Sherlock tried to ignore the drop in his stomach at the sight. John looked comfortable, at ease with being in the same bedroom like this. The rumpled sheets around him made a suggestive image. He looked quickly into his mug and sipped.

'Anything on her laptop?' John asked.

'Yes! A very productive evening.'

'You have a lead then?'

'Of course.'

'Where are we going now? Should I bring my gun?'

'Not at this very second. Right now I need you to remove your jumper, your shirt and do as many push-ups as you can. Maybe three sets?'


	11. The bait

**11\. The bait**

John had his mouth open, trying to process what Sherlock had just said. He sat up and managed to ask, a bit aggravated, 'What? And why?'

Sherlock sighed, exasperated, 'The case, John, obviously!'

'No, it's not obvious,' he crossed his arms. 'What's that got to do with the case?'

He huffed. He grabbed Kathryn's laptop and turned it on. 'I searched her browsing history, a few sites she had visited, then some hidden folders and I retrieved some deleted emails.' His fingers flew over the keyboard as he spoke, 'It took a long time, but it was worth it. I found them. Here's their profile,' he passed the laptop to John.

On the screen there was a picture of a couple, next to a small paragraph. Both were wearing very little, to show their bodies (both in great shape). She wore a black set of lacy bra and knickers, he wore a grey pair of small briefs that showed his erect member's shape. Their faces were obscured; hers by her hair, his by burying his face into her neck, kissing her. She was fair and blond, a sharp contrast with his darker skin and black hair. He read it out loud:

 **"Professional couple, 30s, attractive, healthy, both bi, seeking bi men/women, 20s-40s to enjoy some fun on top, bottom and everywhere in between. Bondage, role play, toys - anything goes. Let's meet first, then who knows? The sky's the limit. Send a pm to box 4443."**

John processed what he just read. 'You think they killed her?'

'Possible. They met the day before she died. What if they returned after that last text? With the excuse of something they might've forgotten? Was it attempted murder interrupted by a heart attack?'

'Are they serial killers? Do you think they've done this before?'

'That's why you will meet them, so we can find out. I've searched for records of suicide in the area, but that kind of data is usually not available. Most obituaries won't mention suicide as the cause of death. I hacked into the coroner's database but, of the reports I've seen, the only deaths related to asphyxiation were caused by drowning. But that wouldn't exclude the possibility that they used different methods of killing to keep the cases unrelated.'

' _I_ will meet them? So you decided to set me up as bait, what a surprise! Why me? Why not you? Sherlock, you are ten times more attractive than I, why would they even look at me?'

'John, Kathryn was blond. Need I say more?'

'She was also a woman, it doesn't mean that their taste would be the same in men.'

'Plus, you are far more muscular than I, you'll photograph better.'

'I'm not even photogenic, I usually look terrible in photos!'

'Nonsense, John. Just look at their picture in their profile.'

He did. They didn't show their faces.

'So I need a picture of you, shirtless, hiding your face, to set up a profile. Do some push-ups and abs, they will pump up your muscles so there'll be more definition. That's what male lead actors do before shooting scenes.'

'And you know that why?'

'Irrelevant.'

'Sherlock, I have big scars on my shoulder and back.'

'Yes, so?'

'Not everybody will think that's attractive. For all they know, I could be a criminal.'

'Nonsense. We'll exploit the "ex-service man" angle on the profile. Do you happen to have your dog tags with you?'

'No, of course not. Why would I carry them if I'm not even wearing them anymore?'

'Pity. Well?'

John just stared at him, his mind working furiously. _I can't do that in front of him. That's Sherlock!_

'John. Do you want to catch Kathryn's killers? Give Mrs. D. the closure she needs?'

'Oh, that's a cheap shot, Sherlock, even for you.'

He shrugged, 'Worth a try.'

'Listen, I don't think I can.'

'Why?'

John's mouth formed an "o" shape and he opened his palm pleadingly, but no words formed.

'John, I assure you, it'll be most tasteful.'

'It's not that, Sherlock. This is very hard for me.'

'What is?' He looked at him, puzzled.

'Taking my shirt off. Having you taking pictures of me like this.'

'John, please! If you were a woman and I asked you to be topless, I would understand. But you're a man, and so am I. It's not like I've never seen you shirtless before.' _Only once, that one night._ 'What is the matter? I don't understand.'

John sighed. 'It's hard for me to explain Sherlock. I don't even understand it myself. I just-. I'm always too self conscious about showing my scars.'

'Why, John? They are merely testimony of who you are and the level of commitment you've accepted when you joined the army. The fact that you survived such trauma and re-built your life, still practicing medicine and saving lives, solving crimes with me and putting criminals in jail, could only be a source of pride, not shame.'

 _I \- am proud of you._

John stared for a few seconds, blinking, mouth agape. 'Sherlock... That was...'

'I know,' he rolled his eyes. 'Horribly sentimental and clichéd. I apologise.'

John took a step forward and touched Sherlock's arm, wonder showing in his eyes. 'Thank you.'

Sherlock frowned uncertain, 'Good?'

John smiled, 'Very good.'

'Good.' Sherlock's eyes darted away, flickering everywhere but at John. He asked abruptly, 'So?'

John turned away and ran a hand through his head, the other on his waist as he blew the air out loudly. Sherlock had a point. If they were to catch Kathryn's killers he would have to go ahead with it, there wasn't much choice. In the large scheme of things, his brief discomfort was a small price to pay.

'Um. This photo.'

'Yes?' _That's promising_ , thought Sherlock.

John let out an exasperated sound and shook his head. 'I still don't like this.'

Sherlock felt victorious, _it will be fantastic to have that photo-_

'And you can wipe that smirk off your face right now. Git.'

'Get on with it, then. Start the abs.'

'Sherlock, can we wait an hour or so? I just ate, I don't think I can do abs right now...'

Sherlock sighed loudly, then agreed to continue his samples' analysis while John went out "for some air and to walk off his breakfast".

Yet, he couldn't help but notice one thing that stuck out in the conversation they just had.

 _'Sherlock, you are ten times more attractive than I...'_

 _Does he mean that he thinks I'm attractive? Or was it just a general comment trying to avoid the task?_ Sherlock had never considered himself attractive. He always thought his face was too long, that's why he kept the fringe. He had a receding chin and hated his own smile, opting often to merely turn up his lips instead. He knew though, that he had an effect on some people and took advantage of it when it suited him. Mostly for cases, obviously, but in the past, for personal reasons too. But if John thought he was attractive... he felt a chill slide from side to side on his stomach. It pleased him.

He also felt a bit uneasy thinking of what he had in mind for John's profile photo. Yes, he knew exactly what the pose was going to be.

 _John has just left._

He had some time. He could use a shower.


	12. The photo

A/note: Thanks to **inesmariachi** and **gillibean1117** for favoriting this story!

Here you go, my beta's favorite chapter in this story. Coming from a non-Johnlock-person, that's saying something! Hope you - Johnlock fans - will like it too. ;)

* * *

 **12\. The photo**

Sherlock set to work as quickly as the words that tumbled out of his mouth.

'So. Your shirt. I thought about it, I'll move that side table and lamp. The wall colour will make your body stand out. Do as many push-ups as you can, three sets, four if you can manage. Abs also. Those rugged boots you're wearing right now are perfect!'

John hung his head, embarrassed now that he had to do it. He removed his jumper but kept the shirt on as he did push-ups and abs, trying to postpone the inevitable a little longer. He tried to ignore his discomfort; he was a soldier, for God's sakes. What was it about being shirtless in front of the most observant person in the world? Certainly nothing to be worried about.

Taking a deep breath, he could only look at his own hands as the buttons came undone. He tossed his shirt on the bed and walked to the spot Sherlock had cleared, avoiding eye contact.

'All right. Let's get this over with, before the maids start cleaning the rooms. What should I do?' He instinctively assumed the "at ease" position, staring straight ahead.

Sherlock had surreptitiously watched John doing push-ups and abs with anticipation, while pretending to be fiddling with his phone's camera. Now he had to recollect his thoughts in order for his vocal chords to produce something coherent. John looked very fit, in both senses. His body had enough definition to look nice. It wasn't perfect, but it looked strong, healthy and beautiful otherwise. _Sexy._ Especially with the scars, they gave him a hint of danger. _Manly danger._ He mentally shook his head into focus. _The Work._

'Right. Stand about six inches away from the wall. Lean your shoulders back until they touch the wall behind you. Hook your thumbs on the pockets. Cross one foot in front of the other. Now look down towards your feet. A little more, there. This way your face is hidden, only your forehead and nose are visible. Raise your shoulders just a fraction, perfect! Now, contract all your muscles. Stay still.'

John heard the "shutter" sound. 'Done?'

'No, not yet, let's try another one. Now, undo your belt and a bit of your jeans, let's show them a peek of your pants-'

John's head snapped up. 'What?! No!'

'Oh John, just a peek. What colour are you wearing today? White would be best, but-'

'No, Sherlock, I'm not doing that.'

'I'm not asking you to go naked.'

'No.' John crossed his arms.

'John, it'll be much more fitting for the site-'

'I don't care,' he shook his head. 'I'm not doing it.'

'Why, are you wearing something embarrassing today?'

'What? No, I just don't want to show more, all right?'

'What is it? Leopard print? Camouflage? Ooh, camouflage would be perfect for the ex-service man angle!'

'No, I don't even own camouflage pants! That's ridiculous!'

'Oh, so you _do_ own leopard print pants then.'

'What? No, I don't! That is equally ridiculous!'

'Red pants, perhaps? See-through black?'

'Oh, shut up!' John's face was getting redder and redder.

'Oh, I know! Old, ratty with holes?'

John merely glared.

'Why not then? It's only underwear, for God's sakes.'

'I can't.' John looked away. 'Because...' he cleared his throat. 'I'm not wearing any today.'

Sherlock's was speechless, his jaw dropped. Then he puzzled, 'Why?' _How come I never knew that about him?_

John was seriously blushing now, staring at Sherlock's shoes. 'Because I had set yesterday aside to do my laundry, but you took this case and we had to come here. I wore my last clean pair yesterday.'

It took a few strongly thudding heartbeats before Sherlock beamed, 'But that is perfect!'

John jerked his head up again. 'What? No!'

'You don't need to show anything, John. Just the edge of your pub-'

'No! Don't you even dare finish that sentence! This is all I'm willing to show!'

Sherlock badgered him and would not let it rest. They argued for fifteen minutes until John had no choice but to comply. Now he was seriously blushing.

'John, stop blushing, you'll be ruining the photo!'

'How can I possibly control that? Photoshop it later, you git!'

'Fine! A little more, John. There. See? Not too much. Not a big deal.'

'Not a big deal for _you_.'

'Shut up. Hook your thumbs back on the pockets and look down again. Contract all your muscles. Perfect!' Emboldened by his success in convincing John to pose, Sherlock took the plunge. He kept his voice steady, belying the drumming inside his chest. 'Now let's try this: could you get yourself aroused for another shot?'

John stared incredulous. _Does he have - any - sense of boundaries at all?_ He closed his eyes and sighed, _No, of course not. That's Sherlock for you._

'Sherlock, I've been trying really hard today. But if you make any more photo suggestions, I swear, I _am_ going to punch you. Those two are all you're getting out of me. I'm not going to get a bloody hard-on for the picture!'

Just then, there was a small knock on the door, followed by a woman's voice saying 'Room service' as the door was flung open.

John bent over, zipping himself up quickly, as the woman squeaked and fumbled clumsily to shut the door, apologising profusely. It might've lasted only four seconds, but to him it felt like an eternity. He was stunned, blushing even deeper, his mouth agape, still bent and holding his jeans' button.

He had seen her eyes flicker quickly up and down his body, at the one unmade bed in the room, at Sherlock's poised camera. Sherlock had just showered, his hair was still wet, giving an air of intimacy to the scene. He closed his eyes. _Perfect. Just bloody perfect._

Sherlock thought he could commit murder for the interruption. He looked at the clock and frowned. 'A bit too early for that, it's not even check out time yet.'

John straightened up and cleared his throat, 'That's it. We're done here.' And to make a point, he grabbed his shirt and turned away, getting himself dressed as quickly as possible.

Sherlock inhaled to speak, but John cut him off, glaring over his shoulder. 'No. Shut up and drop it, Sherlock, or I swear I _will_ punch you.'

 _Damned woman. I could've convinced John to do it, hadn't she interrupted us_ , he thought bitterly.

'Let me see them. You're not uploading anything until I say you can.'

'Oh, fine,' he huffed and handed his phone to John.

'I still think the second one is too tacky. You should use the first one.'

'John, have you seen other people's profile pictures in this site?'

'No. You know I haven't.'

'Exactly. Look at some of them. The second one is tame by comparison and it's a perfect tease. It will make people curious.'

John shook his head and handed the phone back to Sherlock. 'Here. And make sure you erase them from your phone as soon as you're done uploading them,' he said.

'Of course John.'

John finished buttoning up his cuffs. 'And you have to show me while you do that.'

'Why would I keep them? Don't you trust me?'

'No,' he turned away and looked over his shoulder as he had to open his jeans again to tuck in his shirt. 'For all I know you might use them as blackmail material in the future.'

Sherlock didn't have an answer for that. John was right, he would.

'Plus, the last thing I want is anybody we know finding _that_ photo of _me_ in _your_ phone.'

'Oh, ridiculous. You're still worried about what people think of us?'

* * *

A/note: There! My nod to the "red pants" theme [notice John didn't deny owning one? (Not intentional, it just came out that way)]. If you did like this chapter, would you please let me know? Even just a smiley face would make me _so_ happy! Pleeeease? (Picture puppy dog eyes)


	13. The creep

A/Notes: Thanks **awesomesauce1994** for favoriting my story and **xxxwallflowerxxx** and **TheCauldron** for your reviews.

Now the case goes into full gear. This chapter is extra long, so enjoy!

* * *

 **13\. The Creep**

'There John, what do you think?'

John sighed. _Of course Sherlock picked the second photo._

Next to it, it said: **"Ex-service man, professional, 40s, single, healthy. Straight but bi-curious, searching for couples in their 30s-40s to have some threesome fun. Open to experiment. London based, but can travel during weekends. Pm me at box 5607."**

'What now?'

'Now we wait. There might be a lull for a couple of days until the right couple responds.'

' _If_ they respond.'

'Of course they will. Look, the hair from the bedroom matches their profile picture.'

'Sherlock, there could be thousands of people in this site. What makes you think I won't get lost in the shuffle?'

'Filters, John. Look at the side where it says "narrow your search". I can put age, sex, orientation, kinks, groups - anything, really. Plus, when people get bored and can't find what they like, they widen their search. Don't worry, they won't pass by your photo and not notice you.'

'What a relief,' John mumbled. 'Are we going back to London now?'

'No, this is a more promising lead, but not the only one.' Sherlock went back to her laptop. 'She was clever enough to keep a log regarding that co-worker of hers, Mr. Office Creep, Kevin.' Sherlock made his way through Kathryn's folders and handed the laptop to John.

'Jeez!'

The first entry was almost a year ago.

* * *

 **02/02- Morning: 'That is a striking colour', referring to my dress. He clearly gave me a once over. Made my skin crawl.**

 **Lunch time: 'You've got something on your dress,' while standing behind me. When I looked around, there was a bit of my fuzzy scarf on my bum. On my bum! That means he was staring at it.**

* * *

 **03/02 - Morning: 'That's a nice outfit,' the everyday once over.**

 **Mid afternoon: 'You single girls are so lucky to live in this day and age.' Christie and I had been talking about a condom joke in a comedy. He had to pipe in. We immediately changed topics. Christie also gets once overs, but not every day like me.**

 **End of day: 'I myself am popping into the pub across the street after work. You ladies could all come too, if you'd like.' That was directed to Melissa, Andrea and I.**

* * *

 **04/02 - Morning: 'Nice trousers.' I had tried to wear something professional that covered everything, nothing tight. Still got the once over. The compliment makes it sound like he was looking at my bum again.**

 **Mid morning: 'Would you like me to help you with that?' I jumped, hadn't seen he was behind me. I was having trouble with the jammed paper in the printer. 'No, I got it, thanks.' I hate that the printer is right next to his office. He's always staring at us when we go get prints. I told Melissa and she said she realised too late she had been bending over it the other day. She was trying to un-jam the paper and gave him a good view of her cleavage. She vowed to never wear that top to work again.**

* * *

 **05/02 - Morning: 'That's really a good colour for you,' the usual once over, referring to my blouse. I had it buttoned to the neck.**

 **Midday: Elise said he actually told her 'There are many attractive women in this office. Some shouldn't be wearing such provocative clothes.' Why would he say that to her? She wasn't sure he was referring to her. Her blouse had a thin see-through fabric, but it came with a lining that covered everything. Only the sleeves were actually see-through. Creep. She's only nineteen!**

 **Mid afternoon: 'You're really good in everything you do.' Totally innocent comment had it been anyone else's. Coming from him, it sounded dirty. Ugh! He was leaning over my cubicle wall. I always feel like he's staring at my breasts when he does that and find myself constantly closing my jackets and crossing my arms whenever he talks to me.**

* * *

John did a scroll and it went on and on and on. Her last entries grew more and more alarmed. She was really upset about him and felt it was very personal at that point.

'I think we should go talk to Brenda, the office manager, and Kevin, the office creep, don't you think?' Sherlock said once he looked up.

...

John thought the receptionist must've been Elise, the nineteen-year-old Kathryn talked about. To him, she could've been fifteen. He agreed, it was creepy that a man about his age would be checking her out. She took them to Brenda's office through an open large room with cubicles that had chest-high partitions. The office was nicely done, in a conservative style appropriate for a law firm. Going by the name of the company, there were at least four partners. He spotted Jeff, whose computer made him face away from them. He noticed there were about twenty or so employees in this area, more women than men, and roughly a third were young and attractive. There was one empty cubicle in a corner.

He saw the printer by an office that had an open door with a glass insert ( _that must be Kevin's office_ ), but he couldn't see the man inside from this angle.

'Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson? Please, do come in,' a nice contralto voice said. The young receptionist offered to get them coffee or tea as they sat down. They declined, so she closed the door on her way out.

'Thanks, Elise,' Brenda said before the door closed. She looked at Sherlock, then at John. 'I confess I'm puzzled as to why you're here. After your call I looked you up and came across your blog, Dr. Watson.'

He sensed Sherlock's annoyance that his blog always got more attention, yet Sherlock spoke quickly, in a sugary tone that was extremely convincing (to others). 'Well, we're here as a favour to a friend of Dr. Watson. You see, she's Kathryn's mother. We just want to give her some peace of mind, the poor dear.'

'Peace of mind, Mr. Holmes? I don't think a mother could have that, after losing her only daughter,' Brenda said. 'I still don't understand, though. I saw on Dr. Watson's blog that you solve crimes. Poor Kathryn died of a heart attack.'

'Ah yes. Well, she just wants to know if there was anything that led to it. Stress at work, relationships, that sort of thing. I'm sure there's nothing to worry about. As I said, we're here just to give her some comfort.'

As Sherlock took the lead in this interview, John evaluated Brenda. She was close to his age and she was attractive. She had come forward to shake their hands; a strong grip matching a strongly successful woman. As she walked back to her desk he noticed she had nice legs. Single. Her makeup was a little on the heavy side, but he supposed it was expected in her position. Her eyes were hazel, her shoulder length hair ashy blond. She had a sexy deep voice. On the wall behind her desk her diplomas were on display. She was also a solicitor. _And_ one of the partners. _Impressive._ He turned just in time to catch Sherlock's side glance. John wondered if he had been trying to communicate something and he had just missed it.

Sherlock continued, 'What can you tell us about Kathryn's work?'

'Well, she was efficient, attentive to details, overall a good employee. A quick learner.'

'How did she get along with people here?'

'I'd say everybody liked her. She was the kind of person that made friends very easily.'

'Were there ever any issues with anybody? Clients, co-workers, perhaps?'

'Mm, not that I know of,' but she had hesitated.

'You don't seem too sure.'

'Well... I don't want to gossip about the dead, Mr. Holmes.'

'But?'

'I often suspected that there was something between her and Jeff, one of our researchers.'

'What makes you think that?'

'Something about the way they treated each other. Then, about - oh, I don't know - a couple of months ago, things seemed strained. I could tell there was some tension there, but eventually things seemed to go back to normal. I always got the sense that, despite being so open and seemingly carefree, she was a very private person, so I never felt it was my place to ask. I've seen him at the funeral, though. I'd say he loved her. Tragic, really.'

'Anything else about her relationship with her co-workers?'

'Well,' she hesitated again, 'the girls got on pretty well. There are about six of them around the same age, so they had similar interests and all.' She looked down at her purse over a side table. 'And' she sighed, 'there is Kevin.'

Sherlock kept silent, to encourage her to talk.

Brenda sighed, 'He's our bookkeeper and honestly, just between us, Kathryn and several of the girls complained about him.'

'Oh? Tell us about it.'

'Mind you, I don't mean to get him into trouble. He never actually did anything wrong, but he always said things that made them uncomfortable.'

'Such as?'

'Compliments, day-to-day conversation, small talk. From what they told me, it wasn't so much what he said, but the way he said it, how he'd look at them.'

'Please explain.'

'You know, undressing them with his eyes. Again, their perception.'

'Have you talked to him?'

'I tried. I told him to refrain on the praises a little, as nicely as I could, but I don't think he understands exactly what and how anything he did or said would be wrong. In his mind, he's just being nice.'

'Has he ever made _you_ feel uncomfortable?' John was curious.

'Not really, he's been nothing but respectful and professional with me. Then again, I'm not twenty five,' she said with a small smile. 'And - I'm his boss.'

'What do you know about him?' Sherlock continued a bit frostily, letting his pleasant persona slip ever so slightly. He didn't like the way she looked and smiled at John.

'He's always been on the quiet side. He took care of his mother as she got ill towards the last five years of her life or so. She passed away a year ago, as I recall.'

'Are the other partners aware of the complaints against him?' John asked.

She shifted towards John, 'I made them aware of it. As a law firm, we need to be vigilant to the possibility of sexual harassment lawsuits, so I have been keeping an eye on him.'

Sherlock saw her pupils dilate ever so slightly. He _really_ didn't like that. 'How did he react when he learned she was dead?'

John flinched internally a bit at Sherlock's bluntness.

'Like the rest of us. We were all shocked when her mother called on that Monday. He seemed very upset at the funeral.'

'What kind of cases do you usually deal with, Ms. Sullivan?'

'Usually business contracts, advising and such. Divorces, wills, trust funds. Nothing that'll make the headlines I'm afraid, but it's constant reliable work.'

'What was Kathryn working on before she died?'

'Oh, I'm afraid I cannot talk about it, Mr. Holmes. Client-solicitor confidentiality, I'm sure you understand.'

'Yes, of course.'

Sherlock gave John a look; that was his cue. 'Ah, Ms. Sullivan,-'

'Yes?' she smiled at him.

 _She is attractive_, he smiled back. _Her face and eyes seem to light up and shine whenever she does that._ He sensed Sherlock's impatience, so he added quickly, 'I was wondering if you could give us a tour of the office. No need to tell your employees why we're here - we don't want to alarm anyone without cause -, but that'll give us a sense of what her workplace was like.'

A glint in her eye indicated she understood his meaning. 'I'd be delighted. Our employees are used to it, as we show our office to potential clients all the time. I need to give Kevin these receipts anyway. Please, come with me.'

John smiled widely, he liked that she was smart enough that they didn't have to spell things out and make an awkward request. _No wonder she's a solicitor and in a high position in the firm._ He would love to ask her out, but given Sherlock's reaction to his innocent interaction with Amy, that would probably be a bad idea.

'You should also bring your cigarettes with you, Ms. Sullivan,' Sherlock's voice brought him back to reality. 'I'd say it's time for your smoke break.'

She looked at him surprised, then gave him a small smile, 'You're good, Mr. Holmes. How did you know?'

'I can smell the cigarettes, obviously. You were also looking at your purse longingly, where there's a lighter poking out of the external pocket and it's late afternoon. I was a smoker too. I know what it's like when it's time for another one.'

...

She did her bit perfectly, touring the open work area and explaining what the different "departments" did. Being a small office there wasn't so much specific sectors, she explained, but more so, areas of expertise in which some employees excelled. Jeff saw them, but refrained from letting on having met them before, merely nodding politely. John guessed it was to comply with Kathryn's privacy wishes.

Brenda stopped by an office and talked to the man inside about some receipts. Then she casually introduced them to Kevin, as if it was an afterthought. She told them about his position, his role and how long he had been in the firm. John let Sherlock do his thing. Seemingly not paying much attention, just exchanging some small talk and looking around distractedly, but John knew he was reading Kevin. His appearance surprised John a bit. He expected some womanising jock-looking man, but he was quite the opposite. Even though he must have been close to John's age, he felt Kevin hadn't aged well and looked older than him. He had salt and pepper hair and moustache, old looking spectacles, and was bowling-pin-shaped, with a wider middle.

They said a polite farewell and stepped out of the office while Brenda talked to Kevin about the receipts. Sherlock whispered to him, 'Ask her out for a drink after work.'

'Sherlock!'

'She'll say yes, don't worry.'

'Wh-'

But he had to keep quiet, as Brenda too stepped out and resumed the tour. Once at the reception, they shook hands and Sherlock started heading out, leaving him to shake her hand last. With a pointed look.

'Eh, listen Ms. Sullivan-'

'Please, Brenda,' she encouraged him.

'Brenda, I'm sorry if this will sound too forward of me, but would you be available to meet for coffee or perhaps a drink afterwards? I mean, to continue our discussion, of course.'

To his surprise, she gave him a wide smile. 'I'd be delighted. How about the Seagram's across the street in an hour?'

'I'll be there. Thank you. Thank you for seeing us at such short notice and giving us the tour.'

As he left, he noticed Elise, the receptionist, was hiding a smirk. _Great. Now we are the office gossip._ Yet, he was a bit proud Brenda had accepted the invitation.

...

After they walked a little bit away, John asked, 'Why did you want me to ask her out?'

'Well, she obviously liked you, you find her attractive-'

'How do you know that?'

'The way she looked at you, even though she was answering _my_ questions, her body language, her dilated pupils. And the way you quickly evaluated her legs. You had that look.'

'What look?'

'The "I like what I see" look.'

 _Nothing is private around him_ , he thought, annoyed that Sherlock had seen it.

'Plus, it was transparent you were dying to ask her out.'

'Still, why? Certainly you're not trying to be a matchmaker.' _Not after what you said about Amy._

'Kevin is heading for the same pub. I want you to have an excuse to be there and watch him. Be there a bit early and do try to sit in a discreet place, will you?'

'How-?'

'While she was talking to him, he glanced at his watch and looked out the window, in the pub's direction. He's under a lot of strain and has been drinking a lot lately - his mobile phone looked like yours.'

'Where will you be?'

'Inside his office, to find out what he quickly hid on the screen as we walked in. And hers. And Kathryn's cubicle. Do try to find out what Kathryn was working on before she died. Follow him if he leaves the pub and text me the directions. I'll come and join you. Oh, and don't worry. Despite the lipstick and hair colour match, her brand of cigarettes is not the same as the ones found at Kathryn's flat.'


	14. Of sheep and wolves

A/Note: I haven't mentioned it in a while, but I'd like to say thank you to all of you who have been following this story. And even if you're not officially following it, for simply reading it too. Also, thank you to those of you who have read my other stories and favorited those. This makes me really happy.

Here's another longish chapter. Enjoy!

* * *

 **14\. Of sheep and wolves**

John was distracted. Brenda was really interesting, but Kevin did show up as Sherlock had predicted. John had been already waiting for her in a table at a corner, so when she joined him she had her back to the bar. This way she didn't see Kevin walk in and John could watch him. He thought Kevin had seen them, but didn't pay them much attention. He ordered a pint and sat at the bar, quiet and keeping to himself, in deep thought. John observed him, now and then glancing at the mirror behind the bar to watch the suspect's face.

Once Kevin finished his pint, he stood up to leave.

John interrupted her, 'Listen Brenda, I'm really sorry, but something came up and I need to go.'

She was a bit startled and confused. It pained him to leave her like this.

'I'm sorry, Brenda. I do hate to leave like this. Could I- may I have your number? Maybe we could meet again sometime soon?'

She recovered quickly, smiled and gave him her business card. Her mobile number was in it, but he could tell he had lost points right there.

When he rushed outside, Kevin was already two blocks away. Luckily he didn't seem to be in a hurry. John followed him, weaving around the moderate amount of people on the streets, texting Sherlock every street they turned. Night had fallen, but people were out on the streets, going to or coming back from dinner.

About fifteen minutes later Sherlock caught up with him.

'Anything?'

'Nothing of importance, except for the fact that he has looked at pornography in his workplace's computer. Also, a few pictures of Kathryn, taken without her knowledge. Kathryn had been working on some dull divorce papers and some droning contracts. Same with Ms. Sullivan. Disappointing. Any luck with her?'

'No, she deflected work questions and told me a little more about Jeff and Kevin, but nothing that we didn't already know.'

'Pity, but I wasn't referring to that.'

John had to stop and think, then realised it was a joke attempt, just like at that time in Baskerville. _Perhaps a way to compensate for his earlier venom towards Amy?_ 'Well, I got her number,' he gave a sideways look, smiling impishly.

'Ah, well done. Not all was a waste of time, then.' Sherlock made an effort and attempted a smile which wouldn't have convinced Molly, he was sure of that. Luckily, John was staring straight ahead, already daydreaming about the next date.

Now the streets were empty and they had to be extra careful so to not be heard or spotted. Their surroundings looked definitely more dilapidated than the charming touristy area earlier. They had just stopped by a doorway to hide for a bit, as Kevin was slowing down and looking around more often, as if he were looking for someone. John felt cold and his hands were a bit stiff, even inside his pockets. He welcomed the doorway, it blocked the wind a bit.

Sherlock had his back against the door and was poking his head out, while John stood next to him, looking past Sherlock towards their suspect. That's when a student on a bike with a rucksack on his back rode slowly by them. The young man had a wool cap low on his forehead and eyed both of them suspiciously. Sherlock turned abruptly to John and said:

'Look, I told you: fifty will only get you a hand job. If you're not interested, piss off. Plenty of men out there who are.'

John almost blurted "What?!" but stopped himself, recognising the ruse.

The kid snorted and kept on riding at a slow pace.

Sherlock stuck his hand out in a "wait" gesture, with his head turned towards their suspect.

The student had stopped by Kevin. After a few words, the young man pulled his rucksack down, quickly took something small out of it and traded it with their suspect. Soon both went separate and opposite ways and Sherlock and John resumed tailing him.

'What was that, Sherlock?' John whispered.

'Drugs, John. Our Kevin just bought himself something illegal.'

'The student? How did you kno-' He caught himself. Of course Sherlock would recognise a drug dealer. 'Then why-'

'What else would two men be doing in a deserted area in this cold? It had to be drugs or sex. You wouldn't be able to pretend you were buying; dealers can spot a fake and would think you're with the police. You wouldn't approve of me buying drugs, so that left us with only one alternative.'

John could see the logic. Yet it bothered him. He could feel his face burn, despite the cold. He couldn't dwell on it for too long, though. Soon they were back to a more commercial area and Kevin entered another pub. Carefully, they made their way towards a darker spot from which they could watch him sit at the bar. Sherlock swiped a couple of half drunken pints on their path as they headed to a table. This place had a bit of a rougher looking crowd and some people nearby stared at Sherlock, who stood out in his posh clothes.

About an hour and two whiskies later, Kevin started to chat up a woman sitting at the bar. He bought her a drink. That surprised John. He didn't think he'd be that bold, but then again, he had three drinks in him before he made a move. The woman could've been somewhat attractive, John supposed, if only she took better care of herself. She had overly bleached hair and was wearing black leggings, high heeled boots, a puffy jacket and a lot of makeup. She removed her jacket and her top seemed a bit smaller than it should be, tightly showing her ample bosom as well as the extra pounds around her waist. The leggings accentuated her backside and he could tell she was wearing a thong.

Another half hour went by and she excused herself to go to the loo, just as Kevin was ordering another round. Kevin leered at her arse as she sashayed away.

'Ah John, now we'll see what our Kevin is up to,' Sherlock smirked.

John's mouth dropped. 'He just slipped something into her drink! The bastard!'

'So mild and innocent Kevin not quite as harmless as he sounds. Do you still have the Chief's card? Would you mind calling him?'

John hurriedly looked inside his wallet and fished out the card. He walked outside to better hear his phone, keeping an eye on Kevin through the dirty window pane. It took him a while to make the fellow on the other end understand what he was talking about and be convinced to give him the Chief's home number. It was deeply frustrating and he wondered if that was how Sherlock felt when dealing with the rest of the world, including himself. Alarmed, he saw the woman return and sip her drink. He rang the Chief's house and his wife answered. The woman at the bar was already looking tipsy. He was furious that Sherlock hadn't intervened. Finally he got ahold of the Chief and had to start his explanations all over again. He gave the pub's name and, looking around, the names of the streets where they were. After answering a few more disparaging questions, he saw Kevin help her out of her stool and support her elbow as she walked drunkenly.

John quickly turned away from the door and pretended to be having a "normal" conversation on his phone, which utterly confused the Chief at the other end. Right then, Kevin and the woman walked by him without a glance.

'Now now, dear, let's get you home, shall we? You had enough to drink for tonight,' Kevin said patronisingly, more for John's benefit than hers.

'Dr. Watson? Dr. Watson?' the Chief's voice repeated in his ear. He felt Sherlock tapping him on the shoulder as he followed the couple ahead of them.

'Chief, they're heading north on Canterbury Lane. I'll keep you posted,' and he hung up without waiting for a reply.

'Why didn't you stop him?' he hissed angrily.

'I want to see how far he goes with it. I can honestly say he did surprise me,' he whispered, a hint of amusement in his voice that made John really angry. _What about the woman, you dick?_ But before he could say it out loud, Sherlock suddenly pulled John behind the corner. Kevin looked around both ways on the empty street and dragged the rapidly disabled woman into an alley.

'Quick John!' Sherlock ran.

John rushed and they were in the alley just in time to see Kevin holding the sagging woman in place with his body, one hand pawing her breast, the other tugging her leggings down.

'Stop!' Sherlock yelled.

Kevin spun around, saw them and ran away. Sherlock took off after him, while John squatted by the woman, who had sagged to the ground against the wall.

'It's all right, you'll be okay,' he told her, already calling for an ambulance, as he checked her pulse and her breathing. It killed him not to go after Sherlock. Rationally he knew Kevin would never be able to outrun Sherlock being in such a poor shape as he was, much less best him in a fight. Yet, his heart clenched at the thought of not knowing, not being there. He could be armed after all. He tried to push these thoughts aside. _She needs a doctor. You need to stay with her until the ambulance arrives, make sure she's still breathing. Sherlock will be fine._ Next he called the Chief, then carried her out of the alley, to make it easier for the ambulance to find them.

...

Sherlock had captured him easily not too far away and had brought him to where John had been standing, talking to the paramedics as they worked. The ambulance had just left with the woman and the police was taking a much subdued and handcuffed Kevin to the awaiting panda car. The Chief gave his final orders and walked towards them, beaming. 'Gentlemen, congratulations! You just caught the man we've been looking for for the past ten months.'

'Ten months?' John asked incredulously.

'Unfortunately. His victims never remembered his face. The drug always messed up with their short term memories, so we could never get a reliable description. We questioned all the bartenders where the victims were taken, but the suspect had one of those faces that no one pays much attention to, nothing stood out about him.'

'Could it be that he used that drug on Kathryn too?' John asked.

'But the autopsy didn't show any drugs-' the Chief objected.

'Have they tested Kathryn's hair?' Sherlock interrupted. The Chief gave him a blank look, so he continued, 'Some drugs won't show in blood or urine tests, but will show on hair. They should've tested for that already, the incompetents. I grilled him as I captured him. He insists he has never killed anyone and would've never done this to Kathryn. He loved her, he says.'

John made a disgusted face. 'What, so these poor women were mere substitutes as she kept declining his advances?'

'That would be the case, yes,' said Sherlock. 'He says the women he took were asking for it anyway, wearing provocative clothes, sitting alone in pubs.'

'How many women?' John was appalled that Kevin had had a free run for ten months.

'Six that we know of,' the Chief answered.

'Sick bastard!'

'Be as it may,' Sherlock cut off John's indignant speech before it took flight, 'he might be telling the truth. Still, you should cover all the bases Chief, and order an exhumation if they didn't test her hair. Come on John.'

'Mr. Holmes! Dr. Watson! We need to get your statements-'

'Tomorrow morning, Chief,' Sherlock said without turning around or slowing his pace.

John was tempted to wrestle Kevin out of the car and punch the bastard, but Sherlock kept on walking, so he gave the Chief a curt nod and followed. When he caught up with Sherlock he was still fuming. He still thought Sherlock should've intervened at the pub. After a few minutes of walking in silence, Sherlock bumped into his shoulder and asked, 'Hungry?'

His tension melted a bit, he gave a small snort, 'Starving!'

'We'd better hurry then, this being a smaller town we might not have much of a choice this late.'

...

'Sherlock, eat your food.'

'How's your steak?'

'Very good, actually. Either that or I'm really starving. How about your steak and kidney pudding?'

'Passable. Your dish looks better.'

'What now, you want a piece of my dinner?'

'Maybe a bite?'

John sighed, cut a tip and was just about to place it in Sherlock's plate when his hand was intercepted and detoured to an eager mouth. Sherlock closed his eyes and sighed, actually enjoying the food, for once. John wondered if Sherlock had noticed he was still holding his hand and looked around, self conscious. To his dismay, the girl from the B&B's front counter was sitting at the bar, and she quickly looked away when she was caught staring.

 _Just perfect!_ He pulled his hand away. 'Sherlock, please don't do that, would you? Next time, let me put it in your plate.'

'Mm. I should've ordered that instead. It's very good.'

John grunted and concentrated on his food, trying not to think of Sherlock closing his eyes and sighing with pleasure.

* * *

Author's amused note: I have no idea of how much a hand job would cost, let alone in pounds. I just threw in a number based on how much Sherlock had given that homeless woman in TGG. Then recently I finally caved in and tried googling it out of curiosity. I got answers totally unrelated to the question, some amusing, some misleading. So we'll go with fifty.

* * *

On a more serious note, I just want to make it clear, I don't agree with Kevin. No victim is ever asking for it. And girls, never leave your drink unattended.


	15. One more night

A/Note: and thank you to **amychalap** and **WhoGirl12** for favoriting this story before the end.

This weekend will be a little crazy, so forgive me if I lapse. But I promise I'll do my best to get the next chapter out tomorrow, to keep up with one a day.

* * *

 **15\. One more night**

John lay on his side again, facing away from Sherlock, ostensibly to shield his eyes from the light. Any other position reminded him of how embarrassingly close they were to each other.

He was thankful for the food, the hot shower and the comfy bed. He was knackered and fell asleep very quickly, the click-clack of the keyboard translating into the comforting sound of rain in his dreams...

...

Sherlock had also showered and now sat on his bed in pyjamas, pretending to still be working on Kathryn's laptop. An hour later, once he was sure John was asleep, he shut down the laptop and set it aside. The photo shoot had left him on edge the whole rest of the day. It grated him to recognise the attraction between John and Brenda. But it gave them a good cover for the case, so he had accepted it and worked with it. Yet, his mind betrayed him and the act he pulled off of selling himself to John had come out as the most obvious Freudian slip. Luckily, John didn't notice it, merely accepting the explanation. Luckily it had been dark enough that the dealer didn't see the inexplicably expensive coat worn by a street hustler. You could always trust people to see what you told them they were seeing. _They never observe! _

Once Kevin was taken away, all of that returned to the forefront of his mind. He was fidgeting at dinner and couldn't even eat, thinking only of a muscular torso and open jeans. Grabbing John's hand to eat from his fork was the feeblest excuse to get some sort of physical contact. _Pathetic!_

He looked at the muscular back next to him.

 _I can lie by your side one more night._

He lay down as close as he could, facing John's back once more, inhaling deeply. Under the covers his hand moved on its own accord, as he brought to mind John standing, his fly open, the hefty leather belt hanging, the edge of soft darker blond hair showing. He imagined John looking up smiling, removing his belt and walking towards him. He would trap his wrists with the leather, shove a naked Sherlock onto his stomach on the bed, lower his jeans...

...

When John woke up the following morning, it took him a while to identify what was off. It was a smell. _Sweat? And..._ His eyes flew open when he realised the room smelled vaguely like sex. Alarmed, he jerked his sheets up, checking if he had had an embarrassing accident during the night. That would be the worst thing that could happen while sharing a room with Sherlock!

He was dry and clean. He let himself sag in bed, relieved. Then his eyes bulged. _That only leaves one explanation!_ He turned and looked at Sherlock, sleeping unbearably close again. This time he was on his back, facing away. _Sherlock? No way!_

He rolled onto his side and inhaled the heady scent, looking at the pale bare neck. That brought back the disturbing dream from last night. It was raining and he was seeking shelter under a doorway in a dark alley. Then the dark and tall silhouette of a man approached and stopped in front of him. He couldn't see his face, but a pleasant and seductive voice told him of the range of services he could perform for the appropriate pay. The John in the dream didn't think anything of it, there was a quick exchange of cash, and next thing he knew, the shadow knelt in front on him. Being a dream about something he had no real knowledge of, he didn't really feel it. But he had a multitude of images. In the dream, he paid for the full service.

He was hot and sweaty all the sudden.

 _No, this won't do._

With great effort, he rolled onto his back, rubbed his face and took deep breaths. He got up and headed for the shower. He'd wake Sherlock up afterwards and pretend he hadn't noticed anything.

...

When Sherlock was roused awake, he became aware of his caked pyjama bottoms. John had just shaken him and walked away. He looked up. Mercifully, John had placed his case onto the chair and was packing with his back towards the room. He didn't waste the opportunity and headed for the loo before John could see it, trying not to look like he was running as he quickly grabbed clean clothes on the way.

...

As they went down for breakfast, the charlady was chatting with the girl at the front desk and both went quiet as they saw them. The charlady lowered her gaze and looked away, embarrassed, then left the room quickly. John tried to ignore the self-righteous pleasant smile in the girl's face. It was meant to convey "hey, I know you're gay and I have no problem with that, it's fine!", which only annoyed him more.

'Don't worry John, they did that on purpose,' Sherlock said as he sat down.

After a few seconds, John whispered, 'What do you mean?'

'Oh please, John. Didn't you see the charlady's happy expression when she saw you hanging out of your jeans?'

'Would you keep it down?' John hissed. 'I was too busy scrambling to zip myself up to notice her face. Plus, I wasn't "hanging out of my jeans". And in case you've forgotten, it was all your fault.'

Sherlock rolled his eyes at being blamed for it. 'The girl at the counter usually tips the charlady about rooms she should "check" and she puts on that show to get her thrills in surprising couples in compromising positions-'

'We - are not - a couple!' John managed to whisper and yell at the same time.

Sherlock looked bored of John's protests. _Really, this is getting tedious. I know that._

'You knew she was going to come in and didn't stop me from- from posing for you?' His voice dropped at the last words.

'Of course not, John. I only learned it was a ruse the moment she saw you. And that they conspired only just now.'

Seeing John looking a bit too dejected, he added, with a small smile, in a conspiratorial tone. 'I thought you'd be pleased. She did like what she saw. And blushed heavily when seeing you again.'

John looked away, snorting a bit. 'Right. Well then. We should get something to eat. Come on.'

Once he started eating, John felt better. He thought of last night's accomplishment and it felt good to know that someone like Kevin would be out of the streets. He decided to call Brenda and let her know about it - except the fact that he had been spying on Kevin while flirting with her at the pub. He might even be able to have more dates with her. That lifted his spirits. Then he remembered his embarrassing dream.

Just then his phone rang. It was the Chief, asking them to go to the police station for their statements.

After breakfast, they walked to the police station as it wasn't too far from the B&B. He called Brenda and broke the news that harmless Kevin was now in police custody, accused of a series of rapes. She was shocked, asked many questions and thanked him for letting her know. He imagined the shockwave once she broke the news about him to the staff. He mentioned they'd be leaving soon after their stop at the police, so she said she'd try to come by and "thank him in person". Yes, things were looking up.


	16. A gift and its ripples

A/Note: Thanks to **Captain Evermind** for favoriting this story.

Before my crazy day starts, here's chapter 16. Tomorrow's update will be later in the evening.

I had fun with this chapter, enjoy!

* * *

 **16\. A gift and its ripples**

Giving statements was dull. The Chief was a bit miffed that they had gone on that lead without informing him first and gave them a lecture. John had to kick Sherlock three separate times under the table to keep him from antagonising one more police force. Sherlock had a sour look on his face but refrained from being too insulting, shooting daggers at John and rubbing his shin at the end.

...

Their B&B was also close to the train station and they made their way back just in time to finish packing Sherlock's equipment before checkout time. Sherlock walked outside, already looking for responses on TC's profile as John took the keys back to the front desk.

'Here are the keys.'

'Oh thank you. Wait please, Mr. Watson.' She turned around and ducked to pick up something under the counter behind her. She dropped her voice, 'Maggie informed us about, uh, walking in on you and your partner yesterday. We just want to express how sorry we are that such a thing happened. Maggie is deeply embarrassed and apologetic and we'd like to make up for it. I have this gift basket for you and we included a card that will give you and your partner a discount for your next stay. Not only that, you can book the honeymoon suite for the same price as the room you had this time and still use the discount. I hope you'll come back to stay with us.'

John felt his face burn. He looked at the basket and there were a mixture of gourmet chocolates and fancy teas, all held together with a clear plastic and a red bow with white hearts printed on it.

'Uh, erm.' He decided it was best to let it go. 'Thanks.'

The girl smiled at him, all self-satisfied. Then she looked over his shoulder, 'Yes, can I help you?'

John mentally shook himself and turned to go. Brenda was staring at him. Her eyes went down to the basket in his hands, to the red bow with hearts.

'Brenda, I-'

'Dr. Watson. I just came to thank you for what you did. I apologise, I think I made a gross mistake.' Her eyes darted back to the basket, then she stuck out her hand. He reacted mechanically and, clumsily shifting the basket into one arm, shook her hand, feeling her firm grip. 'Please send my thanks to your partner too. It's a relief that Kevin is behind bars now. Have a good trip back to London.'

And she left.

If he had free hands, he would've face-palmed.

...

'Oh, good morning, Mrs. Hudson,' John said as they entered the common hallway in Baker Street.

'Good morning, boys. Did you have a nice holiday?'

'It was a case, Mrs. Hudson,' Sherlock said mechanically in a bored tone, without a side glance, carrying his luggage and equipment up to their flat.

Mrs. Hudson eyed the basket in John's hand. He had forgotten. He had considered binning it just outside the train station before they boarded, but hey, it did have gourmet chocolate and fancy teas... Before he could say anything, she smiled and patted his arm.

'I'm glad he's learning how to be more romantic, John. You've changed him, you know? Well, Mrs. Turner and I are going out to lunch, then shopping afterwards, so you boys will have the house all to yourselves this afternoon,' she winked with a knowing smile. 'Cheery-bye!'

John stood on the spot, squeezing his eyes and mouth shut.

...

John called Sarah and was able to work in the afternoon, to make up for the time lost in this trip. It was a bit tiring, but manageable, as it was only half a day. He still needed to do his laundry once he got home! He still had no pants to wear.

He snorted thinking of what people would say if they knew he had spent a couple of nights with Sherlock in a charming B&B out of town and had run out of clean pants to wear. And returning with that ridiculous basket with hearts. _That better be some bloody good chocolate!_

...

Sherlock had complied with John's request (or rather, demand), and with great regret had deleted the photos from his phone. But he made sure to do a print screen and copy it from the site into a hidden folder in his own laptop. While John was at the surgery, he stared at it, and in his mind's eye, replayed sleeping next to him, seeing him undressing. The minutes that John stood shirtless, arguing with him, so close. He would bemoan time and time again that he hadn't been able to convince John into getting aroused for the camera. Never again he'd be able to look at John wearing jeans and not think of him wearing nothing underneath it. _So sexy._ He lost control of his transport again. Twice.

...

As soon as he returned, Sherlock was beaming.

'John! You've got fifty six responses so far.'

'Are you serious?!' He blinked his shock away, then asked 'Has that couple responded?'

'Unfortunately, not yet. They might be lying low for a while, we'll have to wait. But my point is, I was right in putting you instead of myself in the profile.'

Sherlock kept John's laptop on day and night, monitoring the private messages. John thought it was a bit of an exaggeration, but he had to admit to himself that he was thrilled by the positive response he was receiving.

...

Finally, by Friday evening Sherlock saw the targets' response.

 **"We liked what you showed so far and would love to see all of you. We're going be in London this Sunday, so maybe we could meet for a coffee sometime in the afternoon? No pressure on the first meeting, we usually like to get to know each other first. Check out our profile picture, you won't regret meeting us in person, promise. We can't wait to hear from you. B &L"**

'John, this is perfect. I'll set it up for you to meet at the Java Café. What do you say, Sunday at four?'

John sighed and nodded.

'Good. I'll sign your note TC. You are used to it and will respond if they call you.'

He didn't like it that much. But, even though "John" was common enough, it was still better than using his real name.

'By the way, in case you want to know, you've had three hundred and eighty seven messages so far. Roughly a third of those are from single men who completely ignored your request for couples and are more than eager to satisfy your curiosity.' _I'm so glad he's not interested!_

John blushed and protested, 'It's not _my_ request or _my_ curiosity, all right?'


	17. B&L

**17\. B &L**

John walked into the café and discreetly looked around until he spotted the two people looking attentively at him. _That's him_ , she seemed to be saying to her companion. As he ordered his coffee, he thought they were right, both were extremely attractive people. He glanced at them, with a minute nod and a smile.

Both were smiling as he approached their table.

'Are you TC? I'm Lee, and this is Beth.'

The woman was beautiful. Just like Kathryn had said, she looked like she could've just walked from the pages of a fashion magazine. She was blond, blue eyed, had sexy lips framing a beautiful smile and, he knew, she had a great figure too. Her eyes had an ethereal quality to them, her gaze striking and intense. Lee was also handsome, also model material. He was tall and lanky, had a naturally tanned skin tone ( _Southern European ancestry?_ ), brown eyes, straight black hair that he wore longish, and trendy spectacles. His skin tone made his lips stand out, as if he were wearing lipstick, and John could understand why Kathryn was so enthusiastic about him.

They were easy to talk to and, to his astonishment, they seemed to like him. Beth was the type of woman that he would usually avoid as someone who's way beyond his league. She kept touching his arm as they spoke, giving gentle squeezes every time. He couldn't help but respond to her flirting. He tried to relax and let the conversation flow.

'We knew it was you as soon as you walked in. You're wearing part of what you had on in your profile picture,' Beth said, squeezing his arm. Sherlock had insisted on the outfit and had bought the t-shirt he was wearing. He had to admit, it made him look muscular, appropriate for this "date".

'And I recognised the muscles under your t-shirt,' Lee said, raking his eyes over John's body. He shivered.

Lee noticed it. 'Don't be nervous, TC. You said you were bi-curious. So you've never been with another man before?'

'No, never.'

'Not even in the army?'

He bristled a bit, as if this was an attack on his professionalism. _Remember the case_ , he chided himself, sipping his coffee to regain his composure. He tried to smile. 'Especially not in the army.'

'How could you go so long being curious?'

'Well, to be honest, this is a recent thing. I had never felt attracted to men before...' he trailed off, looking intently at Lee's face and lips, hoping to pass it as flirting.

'Ah, I see. That's why you want a couple, to ease your way into the joys of bisexuality,' Lee smirked.

'Something like that, yeah.'

'Don't worry TC, I'm very gentle, I'll take good care of you,' he assured with a playful quick wiggle of eyebrows, which had an opposite effect on John. He felt even more apprehensive, his skin crawling. 'We just want to make sure you are comfortable with us. This should be fun for everybody, there's no pressure, you can always say no or stop at any time. And we only do safe sex, of course, no exceptions.'

'Oh, don't be a bore, Lee. How do you feel about bondage and toys, TC?' Beth eyed him with interest.

 _Never liked the idea of pain or causing pain on others._ He sipped his coffee again, to hide his thoughts.

'I've used some toys but I've only tried light bondage for a short time in the past. I'm open to trying anything, though. Do you use safe words?'

'Oh, don't worry, we're not hardcore into the whole BDSM thing. We never use anything that you cannot free yourself from on your own. Usually only restraints with velcro, no chains or handcuffs or locks,' she smiled. 'Nothing that would require an embarrassing call to a locksmith, should any mishaps occur. Personally,' she touched her upper lip with the tip of her tongue, 'I love being tied up and let two handsome men do whatever they want with me.'

That mental image brought a powerful surge of lust in him. 'So...' his voice squeaked, so he cleared his throat, 'you've done this before? Threesomes, I mean?'

'Oh yes, we've done this before,' she giggled, looking at Lee.

'Do you keep seeing the same person or is it only a one time thing for you?'

Lee answered that one, 'It depends. If the three of us turn out to be a good match, why stop?'

'How about you, TC? Have you ever done a threesome?'

John thought about how to answer that for a second; he was well aware of Sherlock and Greg listening in through the microphone strapped to his ankle. They were sitting across the room, apparently reading their books, each with their own earbuds. He was embarrassed, but decided to plunge in and tell the truth. It would certainly interest Beth and Lee.

'Only once. Two women.' He thought he heard Greg choking on his coffee across the room. He had no idea what Sherlock would think of that and his ears perked up, listening for his reaction. Without the visual input, he imagined an eyebrow going up. He cursed that he could feel himself blushing. Beth and Lee didn't seem to find it suspicious though, rather seeming to enjoy his embarrassment and find it charming.

'Oooh, naughty,' she squeezed his thigh. 'Don't be shy, TC. You look adorable when you blush, did you know?'

Lee made an impressed face, 'How did it go? Did you like it?' he asked, a glint in his eyes.

'It was fun. I was young, so I didn't keep the second girl waiting for too long. I kept her - distracted - until I was ready again,' he smiled a bit proudly. _"How juvenile and predictable of you, John"_ he immediately thought in Sherlock's voice.

'That's the slight advantage of having two men and one woman. Nobody needs to wait for their turn,' Lee wiggled his eyebrows again. Then he leaned forward and whispered, 'I'm sure you can imagine the... different combinations,' roaming his eyes over John's body.

John was sure he was blushing now. _The case, steer the conversation to Kathryn._ 'So, um, your profile said you are both bi. Are you more into men or women?'

'I'd say it's somewhat equal,' Beth said.

'It's more about who catches our attention and, you know, chemistry,' Lee added. 'There have been times where things didn't go anywhere because the person just didn't feel right.'

'Or when only one of us felt attracted. It's an agreement we have, both of us have to be interested.'

'Which, in this case, I think we both are,' Lee stared at John's lips.

 _Lee seems to have a knack for making anything sound dirty_ , John thought.

'M-hmm,' purred Beth.

John sipped his coffee, it was disconcerting the way both looked at him. He forced a smile in his lips.

'Tell me about your last person, then. Was it a man or a woman?'

'It was a woman,' said Beth, smiling. 'She was younger than our usual, but she was so much fun!'

'Yes, she hadn't been with women before, so it took a while to convince her.'

'We were so disappointed when she didn't message us again! We thought it had gone so well!'

'You didn't try to contact her again?'

Lee answered, 'No, we always give the person a choice. And the same goes for you. Some people feel great while we are together, but then, afterwards, sometimes there's a change of heart. They regret it, there's guilt, shame, what-have-you. So we want them to feel good about it and want more. There have been great matches in our past, some lasted a while, some didn't. We were very disappointed in Kitty.'

'Kitty?'

'We use the names people choose,' Beth shrugged. 'She was loads of fun, and we would've loved to see her again.'

'Who knows? She might still contact us. It hasn't been that long.'

'Well, how did she look to you when you left her?' Aware that it sounded like an interrogation, he added quickly, 'was she - "happy"?' He wiggled his eyebrows.

'Oh believe me, TC. She was more than "happy",' Beth laughed.

'We still kissed hotly up until the last possible minute,' Lee added. 'So much so I would've stayed a second night if I didn't have a prior commitment on that day.'

'She said it was probably for the best, she was sore all over. Which I can totally relate. So was I...' Beth trailed off suggestively.

'Erm, what- what did you do with her?'

Beth laughed, 'How indiscreet of you, TC! You want titillating stories?'

John felt himself flush a little, 'I'm not asking for details, I just want to know what to expect, that's all. Remember, I've never done anything like this before. With a couple, I mean.'

'Well, we don't really plan things, it's just fun to play and let things happen, you know? See where they lead. With Kitty it was surprising and fun,' she added.

They were very open and descriptive. John didn't expect to hear such an explicit and detailed account. He tried to remain neutral, but it was a bit disconcerting to learn what had happened to Kathryn on her last night alive. He felt a little guilty for invading her privacy. Now and then they'd laugh at his astonishment. He wasn't innocent by any means, but sometimes his face just moved involuntarily, that's why Sherlock always said it was fairly easy to read him. They didn't mention asphyxiation, of course. But if they did a bit of bondage... could it be that they just got carried away?

'You have very muscular legs, TC,' she squeezed him. 'I can't wait to see the rest of you. Can I kiss you?'

'Here?' He was certain he could feel Sherlock's eyes on him now. He glanced around, thinking he saw a few people averting their eyes at the last second. It was a very public space, and she wasn't exactly being subtle. He was just glad they had picked a table in an isolated corner.

'Why not? Call it a "chemistry test".'

Her hand slid up a bit. John couldn't help the attraction he felt. To have such a beautiful woman looking at him like _that_ , how could he not be affected? He wasn't sure the heat he felt was embarrassment or lust or both, but he knew a lot depended on this. He tried not to think of Sherlock and Greg listening to all this and most likely, also watching. He tried not to think of the people around them, a few tables away. He tried not to think of Lee staring at them. _Just look at her._

His breathing was laboured as he approached. He went for slow and sensual. It was scorching hot, she was a great kisser. _God, I haven't kissed like this in a long time!_ Right then and there he forgot his discomfort, the people around them, Sherlock and Greg, and that he was kissing a potential murderess, with her husband (?) watching. There was only her, her mouth, her body next to his. He moved a hand to her waist, which only made him want to feel more of her.

His mind almost derailed when in response her hand slid up to his crotch. He broke the kiss.

'Wow,' she whispered. Then she turned to Lee in a hoarse tone, 'Honey, we _have_ to have him.'

Lee chuckled, 'Agreed. I can't wait to try you myself, TC. Would you be open to that?'

'As long as it's not here,' John gently pulled away from her, glancing around nervously. 'We could get arrested,' he panted. 'I'll have to think about it. It's one thing to be curious, but a whole different world to actually do it.'

Lee reached for his thigh under the table, his voice husky. 'I can make it really good for you, TC. I promise you'll love it.'

John shivered.


	18. The case

**18\. The case**

Overall, he thought he had made a "good first impression". Beth was extremely attractive and exciting, but he wasn't sure about what to feel at Lee's attention. He had to admit it was as flattering as it was disturbing. Their conversation and the way they had looked at him kept rolling inside his head. He couldn't shake off the effect Lee had on him, shivering again and again. It was scary and exciting at the same time, a sense of danger that had a dizzying pull on him. _They are potential murderers_ , he chided himself. Afterwards, as previously agreed, he met Sherlock and Greg at 221B. He paid close attention, but no one followed him.

...

'What? Why are you both looking at me like that?'

Greg looked impressed, 'Two women John? I would've never guessed! How old were you?'

'You've tried bondage?' said Sherlock. He thought John would've objected to losing control in any situation, especially during sex. Most likely, he wasn't the one tied up.

'Oh, grow up, both of you. That's all you got from the entire conversation I just had with two potential murderers? What about Lee and Beth?'

'That man gives me the willies, John,' Greg said.

'You felt it too?' John asked.

'Yes, I don't know how you did it. I was on edge the whole time.'

Sherlock huffed, 'Oh, please. You two only felt this way because you're both straight and Lee is bisexual.'

Both John and Greg looked up, surprised. Both protested.

'No, we didn't.'

'That's not why.'

'Sherlock, they did say they do some bondage. Could it be that they just got carried away?' John asked.

'They're not into real bondage, they're too wishy washy about it. No, it wasn't them. They had no clue she was dead, and I could read they were telling the truth at that point. They're innocent. Of murder, at least.'

Greg and John stared, open mouthed, processing this. Sherlock suddenly stopped pacing, half turned towards John, but avoided his eyes. He looked uncertain for a change, which surprised John. 'So, em... are you going to see them again?'

John paused, his mouth hanging open for a couple of heartbeats.

'What? No! Of course I won't see them again! What kind of question is that?'

'You've played your part all too well,' Sherlock smirked, pleased with the response.

'Oh, piss off! So we just wasted a week chasing the wrong suspects? I can't believe this. And I had to-' John clamped his mouth shut, remembering Greg's presence. Greg looked at him curiously, but John waved his hand.

'I had to see them to rule them out,' Sherlock shrugged.

John exhaled and took a deep breath. 'So do you have other suspects?'

'Autoerotic asphyxiation.'

Greg turned back, 'Sorry, what?'

'Autoerotic asphyxiation, Lestrade. That's what killed Kathryn.'

John raised his eyebrows. 'So... it was suicide after all?'

'No, John, do keep up. Accidental death. I did some research on it ever since we took the case. Every year there can be as many as a thousand deaths due to this. John, as a doctor you know that oxygen deprivation leads to hypoxia-'

'A lucid, yet semi-hallucinogenic state of euphoria.'

'Exactly. Usually common amongst teenage boys, who claim that the lack of oxygen enhances their sexual enjoyment as they pleasure themselves. Others use it to get a mild high, thinking it safer than drugs. A most stupid mistake, as the risk of death is fairly high. Of the fatalities, most of the people didn't intend to kill themselves. They had a rescue mechanism or a partner with them. But no rescue system is infallible. Sometimes the repeated oxygen deprivation changes one's blood chemistry, enough to cause a heart attack. Or worse, leads to brain damage.

Now, Kathryn surely had done this many times before, as the cause of her death was a heart attack. She most certainly would have had a rescue mechanism to survive this long. So the question is, did it involve a partner or not?'

'She was found lying on her sofa. Maybe the ligature was applied long before she died, then?' Greg piped in.

'Yes. But she did look like she was placed there,' reminded John.

Sherlock smiled at John's comment. 'She was most excited about her experiences from the night before. She was excited to share her new discoveries. Who best to tell them to other than-'

'- her best friend!' John finished.

...

Amy was just returning from her grocery shopping when she saw them waiting for her.

'Mr. Holmes? Dr. Watson? What are you doing here?'

'Perhaps we should go in, Amy?' said John.

She paused, then added hastily, 'Yes, of course. Please, do come in.'

They followed her into the kitchen, where she started putting things away, offering to make some tea.

'We won't be here long,' said Sherlock.

Amy looked up at him, a hint of fear in her eyes, then continued stowing things away. John thought best for him to approach her instead of Sherlock. He spoke calmly and softly.

'Amy, we're here because of Kathryn's death.' She paused with her back to them, a can of soup still in her hand. 'You were there, weren't you? You did see her that day, before her mum came.'

'I- I didn't see her, I told you.'

'You were there,' Sherlock said firmly. 'You removed the ligature and placed her on the sofa. When you realised she was dead you took the ligature away with you. Why?'

'No!' She turned around. 'I never saw her that day! You saw our texts!'

'Amy,' John said soothingly, 'we know you didn't kill her. What happened that day?'

Confronted, Amy fell apart. She fell onto a chair and started sobbing.

'She did that frequently, didn't she?' John continued. 'You were always there as a safety mechanism, weren't you?'

Sobbing into her hands, she nodded and it took some time before she started talking.

She had never gotten into asphyxiation as Kathryn had over the years, but did help out if they happened to be together when the occasion arose. To Kathryn, it was more of a high, rather than sexual. But this time being there was not enough. Usually Kathryn would tie a thin belt around the banister, stand with the loop on her neck and lean forward. All Amy had to do was push Kathryn back and she'd recover. This time, she hadn't. It was over in seconds.

'I pushed her back as soon as she passed out. I dragged her to the sofa, but she didn't wake up. Then I realised it was too late. I tried CPR, but I'm not even sure I did it right. I just stood there, in shock, not knowing what to do for a while. I undid the belt from the banister and walked out. I wasn't thinking.'

Her eyes filled with tears. 'I failed her. My best friend, dead, because of me,' she sobbed.

'Not because of you, no,' said Sherlock. 'She did it to herself. It didn't matter whether or not she had you with her. Repeated lack of oxygen can be fatal in and of itself, that's what caused the heart attack. But you should have reported it to the authorities.'

'I know, I was about to, when I got a call from her mum. Then it was too late. The police had already been called and the events were set into motion before I could stop them.'

...

Mrs. D. didn't know what to do with the information. It was a relief to know that Kathryn hadn't been murdered or had suffered in her death, but there was no comfort in knowing it had been self inflicted, albeit unintentionally. She had known Amy all these years; the girls had been best friends practically all their lives. She understood how devastating it must have been to witness it, yet being powerless to help. She didn't think telling the police or pressing charges would do any good at this point.

Grimacing, her eyes moist with tears, Mrs. D. grabbed the lapels of Sherlock's coat. For a second he was alarmed, thinking she was about to punch him. But worse than that, she flung herself to his chest. He looked around at John for help, who was looking away, trying not to smile. Then John became serious and gestured for Sherlock to put his arms around her.

 _Are you serious? Help me out here!_ He pleaded silently.

 _No, Sherlock, wrap your arms around her, she needs it_ , John had a stern look on his face.

 _You do it!_

 _No, she's already in your arms, just do it._

Sherlock awkwardly raised his arms, hovering them around her back and patted her in a weird way.

Eventually she pulled away, apologising for her outburst.

'Thank you, Mr. Holmes. For taking my case.'

Sherlock merely gave her a curt nod and turned away, eager to flee, as John talked to her.

'Thank you Dr. Watson. I can see why you two are such a good team. Your blog doesn't do justice to how well you work together. I admire and envy the connection between the two of you.'

John wasn't too sure of what she meant. She had barely seen them actually work, or even together in the same room for long. She seemed to read his mind.

'Oh it shows, you know? I can't explain. But I wish you all the best, you deserve it. Thank you again.'

And before he could say anything, she burst out crying again.

...

'You did good, Sherlock,' John said as he drove, keeping his eyes staring straight ahead.

'You mean "you did well". Thanks _a lot_ for your help,' Sherlock sulked.

John smiled a little. 'You're welcome, glad I could help.'

But her last words kept replaying in his mind.

* * *

A/Note: (Chews on nails) I confess I was a bit nervous to release this chapter. Please let me know how I did. Tomorrow's chapter is a fun one, I promise. ;)


	19. Inappropriate lust

A/Note: Sorry for the late hour. I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. Enjoy!

* * *

 **19\. Inappropriate lust**

John was sitting on the edge of a bed when he felt the mattress dip behind him. A hand settled on his shoulder and he heard a man whisper in his ear, from behind. 'I'll make it good for you, TC. I'll be gentle. You'll love it...' He was already shirtless, and the hands ran up to explore his chest. The man's arms were bare, and he could see they had a natural warm colour, almost as if they were tanned. Against his chest, the contrast was stark, his own skin looked milky by comparison. 'You feel so good,' the voice tickled his ear, leaving him breathless. The mouth was now kissing his neck, the arms wrapped around him. The hands moved down to undo his jeans. He wasn't wearing pants again, and the man cooed appreciatively in his ear. Then a hand slid into his jeans. He looked down again, but this time, his own skin was darker than the other man's arms. The arms were pale, the fingers long and familiar. 'I want you, John.' That voice... He could also smell him. Familiar, again. Then he smelled sweat. And sex.

John woke up with a start.

He rubbed his face and took a few deep breaths to calm his racing heart.

He didn't know what was worse: the fact that he just had a homoerotic dream with Lee in it, the fact that Lee turned into Sherlock, or the scary fact that either way, he enjoyed it. He was thankful once again that he didn't have to go on a second date with Lee and Beth, especially if it involved a hotel room with half the Yard listening. He just didn't know how he would react with Lee touching him. Kissing him. Running his hands all over his body-

'John! Wake up! New case!' Sherlock was yelling from halfway up the stairs to his room. He groaned and sat up holding his head, hearing Sherlock padding back down. _Push that aside, move._ He heard Sherlock padding up again.

'John, I'll give you ten minutes to shower and get dressed.'

 _Argh. Better get started, he's being generous this time._ 'All right, all right, coming!'

...

When he got out of the bathroom fully dressed, Sherlock was closing the lid on a travel mug.

'Got you some tea and here's a toast,' he shoved both in John's hands. 'Let's go, you can eat in the cab,' Sherlock walked past him.

John was astounded. 'Eh... thanks.'

Sherlock turned around and poked his head back into the kitchen, 'Come on John, we've already wasted ten minutes,' he stopped and frowned. 'Why is your face red?'

'Hm? It must be from the shower. It'll pass. Let's go.'

...

 _This is really not good._

Sherlock blinked, trying to focus back to the present. _What have they given me?_ His eyesight kept blurring and try to fight it as he might, a strong sense of euphoria was taking hold of him. His legs faltered, and he felt the tug on his wrists as his body weight hung from the handcuffs above his head. _Handcuffs? How naughty!_ He felt a slight pressure around his throat as his scarf got caught on something behind him. _Oh, hypoxia._ It did give him a sense of giddiness which, compounded with the effect of the drug in his system, only made everything funnier. He remembered, _Brain damage, brain damage, better not_. Yet, he couldn't stop himself from leaning forward, the pressure was pleasant, in a strange way.

'Who sent you?'

For some reason that sounded hilarious, and he felt his head swing violently to the side with the blow. In what was left of his rational mind he knew that this should hurt, but right then he didn't care. All he could do was laugh.

The man in front of him grabbed his face and repeated, angrily. 'Who. Sent. You?'

'Nobody! I came here on my own. You left quite a trail, you know? You could leave a trail on me. Or a "pearl necklace"...' he said, surprising himself as to how salacious it sounded even to his own ears. And before he could stop himself, he rubbed his body against the man standing close to him. _Ah, yes. Nice._ The man shoved him back against the wall.

'What the hell did you give him?'

'Sorry boss, I was hoping I had enough "easy lay" left to knock him out, but it wasn't enough,' one of the thugs said.

'He's stronger than he looks,' said a second man, who looked perfectly capable of crushing walnuts in the crook of his elbow while flexing his biceps.

'Why am I surrounded by incompetents? How is it that this scrawny man was stronger than you lot?'

'He did some sort of kung fu and was knocking us out one by one', said the first man. 'I was just lucky he was distracted with fighting Billy. I snuck behind, shoved the salt into his mouth and held it shut.'

'Great! Now I have a delusional sex crazed poof in my hands and I can't even get a straight answer. How much did he hear?'

'We're not sure, but he did mention the night club as he knocked out Tommy.'

'Aargh! How did he even get in here?'

Just then, the lights went out. The men let out surprised gasps.

'Quiet! There's someone else here.'

'Ow!'

'What was that?'

'It was Billy!'

'What's going on?'

'Silence, you knobheads, listen!'

They all paused, then they heard, 'Mmph.'

'Al, go check the electric panel!'

'Yes, b- oof!'

'Al?'

'Boss? There's som-mmf...'

'Tommy?' Nobody answered him. 'All right, whoever you are, I have a gun. And I'm going to shoot your friend here if- Ungh.'

'And I - have night goggles,' said John. He went to the electric panel in the corner and flipped the switch back on. As he tied the men he had just knocked out, he glanced at Sherlock, giggling and hanging from his wrists.

'Encore! Bravo! Breathtakingly brilliant, John,' Sherlock made an amused face, staring off into space. 'Besting the beggar's belief bird brained blighters boundlessly beneath bladdered bairns; beautiful blinder, barry Belisha beacon, braw blinding bottle be... oh, bugger!' He hung his head disappointed, then raised it again with a big silly grin. 'Bugger!' He snorted and laughed.

'Sherlock, keep talking, stay with me. If the dosage was small you won't loose consciousness, so keep talking. I'll be there to free you in just a bit.'

'Yes, John, I'll be sitting tight over here. I have no intention of going anywhere,' Sherlock said with no trace of humour.

Then he burst out laughing again. 'I'm a bit tied up at the moment.' And he kept on laughing.

When John finally had all men secured, he called Greg and asked for an ambulance. They'd better monitor him, GHB could be fatal. Meanwhile, he looked for the handcuffs' keys in all of their pockets.

'Oooh, how naughty of you John, putting your hands in their - "pockets" - while they're unconscious.'

'Yes, Sherlock, that is hilarious, keep laughing.'

'Would you squeeze that one's arse for me? He has a glorious one, sticking out like that.'

John frowned, looking sideways. Then he shook his head, _he's been drugged. Not good, with his history._ 'A-ha!'

He walked towards Sherlock, looked around and pulled a crate closer, so he could climb and reach his wrists.

'I love when the soldier in you shows up, you know? Sooo sexy!'

John ignored the comment, feeling his face heat up. As soon as he undid the handcuffs though, Sherlock almost fell. John flung his arms around him, stepped down from the box and lowered him to sit on the floor.

But Sherlock swung his arms around his neck and lay back, pulling John down on top of him.

'Oof! Sherlock! Let go.'

'Ooh, John, you're heavier than you look.' And Sherlock started rubbing himself against John, giggling. 'Muscles weigh a lot, did you know?'

John tried to pry Sherlock's hands from his neck, but without the support of his hands his hips pushed against Sherlock's.

'Oooh, yes, just like that, John.'

'Sherlock, let go.'

'Noooo, don't go. Just come,' and he kept on rocking his hips, laughing. 'Thanks for coming. Do come again. Just keep coming, would you John?'

John froze and his eyes widened. Sherlock was aroused under him. Just then, Sherlock pulled his head down and kissed him. For one second, John was too startled to react. Then he struggled and pushed himself up, fighting the grappling hands that all the sudden seemed to have multiplied. Sherlock held his wrist and was impressively fast, given his drugged state. Before John knew it, he was flat on his back with Sherlock on top of him, holding his wrists and rubbing himself against him.

'Wanted you... for so long...'

'Sherlock! Sher-mmpf!'

And now Sherlock was truly snogging him senseless. To his even greater shock, he felt Sherlock's tongue sloppily pushing between his lips, licking everything he could get ahold of. John kept on struggling, but Sherlock's grip was strong. He tried to move his head away, but the relentless mouth followed him. He tried to unsettle Sherlock by using his left leg, pushing and bucking against the floor. Sherlock pulled back momentarily, but only long enough to twist his legs into a grip that immobilised his. John had a second to breathe and the mouth was back on his. He contracted his muscles and contorted his body, but it was useless. There was no escape.

With John unable to offer much resistance, slowly Sherlock became less and less aggressive, sinking onto him, into his kisses. As he calmed down, the kisses didn't feel like a crazed assault anymore, but something else, deep, rich with passion and feeling instead. The kisses had a dizzying effect on John and before he knew it, his struggle had ceased altogether. He found himself enjoying the weight over his body, enjoying even the grip that rendered him powerless.

For he was powerless to resist Sherlock. Always.

His body went slack, he surrendered and just allowed it to happen. Soon, he was kissing back, releasing all the pent up feelings he had kept buried deep inside himself, unacknowledged, unnamed, forbidden. They simply burst out, tumbling with unexpected intensity, unlike anything else he had ever felt before.

Sherlock released his wrists, sliding his hands over the arms, towards the shoulders, now kissing his face and neck. He stretched his legs, releasing his grip so he could rub himself against John again. John shuddered with the heat he felt.

Sherlock raised himself in one arm and started undoing John's buttons, panting, eyes hooded with lust.

Seeing that alien expression on Sherlock's face, John came to his senses. He freed himself and flipped Sherlock face down on the floor. Straddling him and pinning his right hand on the back, John pulled out another plastic tie and immobilised him too.

'Nooo, Joooohn. Please...'

'Sorry, Sherlock. You've been drugged. We'll get you to a hospital and they'll take care of you.' He was panting. How could he have allowed this? Sherlock was completely out of his mind and he kissed him back? Worse, he too had an erection now. He sat back, getting away from his friend, drying his mouth and neck with his sleeve. Sherlock slowly turned onto his side.

'Nooo, Joooohn... Come back.'

He took deep calming breaths. _Come on John, get ahold of yourself!_ 'Come Sherlock, let's keep you moving.' He helped Sherlock to stand up, 'Walk with me, focus, stay with me. That's it, walk. Help is on the way.'

'Don' need...'

'Yes you do.' _And so do I. God help me! This is really not good._


	20. Shame (less)

**20\. Shame (less)**

Sherlock moved his head to the side. _Ugh, nasal cannula. Heart rate monitor beeps. Hospital._ He wanted to open his eyes, but his lids felt profoundly heavy.

'Sherlock? Can you hear me?'

A familiar and comforting voice and relief washed over him: John was here. Care and concern in his voice, yet contained, professional. Relief of what exactly, Sherlock didn't know, it's not like he was worried about being in hospital. He had been in this situation countless times and he wasn't even injured this time. _Yes, I can hear you John, I haven't gone deaf._ Yet, as he tried to speak, his mouth wasn't responding to his efforts.

'Gnnn. What...'

'In your struggle, one of the thugs stuck some GHB salts into your mouth. You didn't pass out right away, which was good. It means the dosage wasn't as high as it could've been.'

 _Dear God, did I just do what I think I did?_ Sherlock tried to run a hand over his forehead, but felt the tug of the IV needle on the top of his hand and gave up.

'Careful, Sherlock. You were a bit out of your mind, but you're all right now. You might just have a bit of a headache, maybe some leftover drowsiness, but that too should go away. They've been monitoring you for bradycardia and making sure you keep breathing, but that should be all. Once your head clears, you should be able to go home.'

Sherlock tried to open his eyes again. He turned his head, following John's voice. He saw the attempt of a reassuring smile.

'We got them, Sherlock. They're all in jail right now. They confessed to killing the witness with an overdose of GHB. They were trying to make it look like a date rape attempt gone wrong, from a stranger in the nightclub. Just like you said. Amazing!'

'You...'

John squeezed his shoulder. 'It's all fine, Sherlock. You'll be fine. I'm going to tell the nurse you're awake, I'll be right back.'

In his hazy state, Sherlock appreciated John's medical background once again. He was obviously dismissing the whole incident as a drug induced action. The drug might've lowered his guard and his inhibitions, but the desire had been real, it had been there all along. Longer than he himself knew.

...

John was truly embarrassed and ashamed of himself. What was he thinking, taking advantage of Sherlock in that state? _"In lower dosages, GHB can produce euphoria, disinhibition, enhance sensuality and lead to empathogenic states,"_ he recited in his mind. In contrast, even a slightly higher dose could produce grim results: dizziness, depressed breathing, drowsiness, amnesia, unconsciousness, even death. Sherlock had been lucky. And John, the unfortunate "beneficiary" in all this. He fervently hoped Sherlock wouldn't remember how he had reciprocated to all his actions. He was pants as a friend, that's what he was.

But... when Sherlock kissed him, it was like the world had stopped. In that second, there was no gender, orientation, or barriers between them. It was as if a heavy _something_ had blanketed them and only the kiss existed. _And the kiss... was good. No, more than good, fantastic!_ It felt as if it was meant to be, to exist, as if it had always been there, connecting them, reinforcing the link that already existed between them. But how could that be? _That is just not possible! How could I live my whole life with not knowing this?_

Yet, he could not un-see the smouldering look on Sherlock's face, panting above him, unbuttoning his shirt. Or forget the hardness pressing against his own.

...

'Well Mr. Holmes, your vitals are almost back to normal. Only your blood pressure seems to be still slightly high. It could be just leftover tension over your ordeal. Do try to relax and I'll have the nurse check back on you in another half hour. Soon your partner here will be able to take you home.'

Sherlock glanced at John, worried about his reaction. John remained staring straight ahead, avoiding eye contact, his face red, arms crossed.

...

Both were quiet and subdued as they rode home. John suggested some takeaway and Sherlock agreed, despite his lack of appetite, in an attempt to keep things normal. There was a heavy silence hanging over them as both tried to eat, pretending all was normal when it clearly wasn't.

John tried to get them back to normal by way of scolding him. 'It goes without saying that none of this would've happened if you had waited for me.'

'Oh, shut up, John.'

 _Wrong tactics. Maybe it would be better if we joked around?_ 'Do you remember your long sentence where all words began with "b"?'

Sherlock's face softened a bit, 'Not the exact words. I only remember trying to come up with the most words without a break, until I stumbled.'

'I'm not even sure the sentence made sense, but it would've been funny to have it recorded and go over it again.'

Sherlock gave a non-committal grunt.

'I only remember you calling me a Belisha beacon. At least I think you were talking about me.'

That cracked a small smile on Sherlock's face, even though he still avoided eye contact. Encouraged, John tried to lighten things up, saying playfully, 'You were so out of it you even rubbed yourself against their boss.'

'Please don't remind me.'

'You also asked me to squeeze one of the thugs' arse, do you remember?'

'Shut up, John.'

They remained quiet, then both snorted and burst out laughing.

'Sherlock, you should've seen their faces as I started knocking them down.'

'The night goggles were a brilliant idea, John.'

They were fine. Everything was fine.

Yet, Sherlock could tell John was putting up a façade. No, nothing was fine. He had mucked up everything by letting his body run free. He could see it in John's face, as he too realised they had just gone over all the events leading up to _that_ moment. All that did was bring attention to what had happened next.

'John, I-'

'Sherlock-'

They spoke at the same time and stopped. They looked at each other, and John averted his eyes.

'John, I-'

'Sherlock, it's all fine. You were drugged.'

'Yes, but-'

'It's fine. Let's just... forget it, all right?'

'Yes, just delete it. I will. Delete it.'

 _But why would John have this strange look on his face? He's obviously embarrassed, no surprises there. But there is something else. What is it? Not fear, not anger. Guilt. But why guilt?_ He tried to blow away the fogs of the drug as he struggled to remember all that had happened. But all he could come up with was the overwhelming lust and that he had assaulted John. _Why would he feel guilty? He didn't hit me, he knew I was under the drug's influence. He immobilised me to protect me. What am I missing?_

He observed John closely. _Embarrassment. Guilt. We kissed. Oh! That's it! We kissed. So he must have..._

'You kissed me back!' he blurted, eyes wide.

John closed his eyes and squeezed his lips. He took a deep breath and steeled himself. _Time to face the consequences._

'Sorry.'

'Why did you?'

'I- I wasn't thinking. You were on top of me, rubbing yourself against me, snogging the living daylights out of me. I couldn't help it.' He kept his eyes down at his plate. 'Sorry.'

'You - liked - what I did to you?'

'No! That's not, I mean, you - em - I didn't. I -' John swallowed, sagged in his chair and said very quietly, 'yes.'

'But you're not gay.'

'I'm not. Yet, I-' he gestured helplessly. 'It took me by surprise too.'

Sherlock was speechless. In his drugged state, he hadn't realised John had responded to him. He wished he could remember it. John looked utterly ashamed of himself. No, this was not good, he had to make him understand-

'I'm sorry Sherlock. I shouldn't have taken advantage of you like that. It's- it's just- it all happened so fast, I don't know what came over me, I -'

'John, John! Don't blame yourself. You didn't take advantage of me. The drug took down my defences, but the desire had been there all along.'

John finally looked up, frowning.

Sherlock took a deep breath. 'Ever since I saw Victor on New Year's Eve, it became obvious that I was not as impervious to my body's needs as I once believed. But slowly I noticed that my focus wasn't on Victor anymore. At first I thought it was just a physical reaction, my transport focusing its attention into the nearest person, not you _you_ necessarily. I was wrong.'

John continued to stare at him, a stunned look in his face. 'Wait.' Then, after a pause, 'What?'

Sherlock was getting frustrated, how much clearer and more blunt would he have to be?

'You were wrong... about which part?'

Sherlock growled, stood up suddenly and leaned over with his hands on the table. 'I'm saying I also liked what I did to you. And that I want to keep doing it.'

Still John stared, but now his eyes were huge. 'You... are interested... in me?'

Sherlock pushed away from the table and started pacing. He just couldn't look at him. 'Yes!', he said a little too loudly.

'Since when?'

He opened his mouth to answer but stopped. He had to think about it. 'I believe the key words are "I became aware". First I became aware of how things were between us at the New Year's party. Then, during the case where the suspect almost punched me, I became aware of your attractiveness. The night I saw you wearing only pants I became aware that I was physically attracted to you. It became stronger during our case with the threesome couple. At the B&B I became aware of wanting to touch you.'

'Sorry, what do you mean by "how things were between us"?'

Sherlock rubbed his hair. Why was it always so hard, talking about emotions? He couldn't look at John and say these things out loud, so he turned away. 'What you and I have goes beyond anything I've ever had with anyone else, including Victor. It _was_ you, John. All along.'

Sherlock started to regret his rash move. Maybe he had misunderstood, maybe he-

John grabbed his arm and with surprising strength and speed, turned him around, pulling him closer. Stopping when they were an inch from each other's face, John murmured into his lips, 'Then kiss me like you mean it, Sherlock. Without drugs.'

 _Oh._

 _Oh God._

 _John._

* * *

A/Note: Yay, I made it! Crazy day today and I didn't think I'd ever get to my story. Tomorrow is the last chapter. If you liked the last few chapters, would you please review? Thanks!


	21. Curious

A/Note: My thanks also to **Bibliophile Nicole** for favoriting this story, sorry I missed acknowledging you yesterday.

* * *

 **21\. Curious**

'John, are you updating the blog? You've been typing and deleting for quite a while.'

'No. I'm just sending a private message to Beth and Lee.'

Sherlock's eyes widened as he looked into his microscope, his back stiffening. _Why?_ He recalled how he had felt as both Beth and Lee were flirting with _his_ John. Well, technically John wasn't _his_ back then. It was especially grating to hear Lee's unctuous passes, daring to touch his thigh. Sherlock himself had never dared to be so bold, and here this absurdly handsome man had just met him and was already pawing him like that.

 _How could John do this to me, so blatantly like this? I can understand the woman. She is beautiful. But Lee? Well (admitting it rationally), Lee is exceedingly attractive, no doubt about that, but-_

'Done. I'm going to have a shower now.' John squeezed Sherlock's shoulder as he walked by.

Sherlock _had_ to read it. As soon as he heard the shower start, he ran to the desk, flipped the laptop open, figured out the passcode in his third try (which certainly did _not_ make him blush) and impatiently made his way into the private messaging in John's profile page. Heart pounding, he read:

 **"Dear Beth and Lee,** **I'm writing to thank you for coming to London to meet me."**

 _And drool over you and paw you. And she dared to kiss you! On a first encounter, in public, touching you there, in broad daylight, for the whole café to see._

 **"Both of you are extremely attractive, and I was very flattered."**

 _Too attractive for their own good. They already have each other, why do they need to take him away from me?_

 **"And I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I was tempted. I thought about it for a long time, I couldn't stop thinking about that day we met."**

Sherlock inhaled sharply and his stomach dropped. He wasn't sure he wanted to continue reading. He lowered his head and rubbed his hair. Fists clenched, he raised his head back up - he had to know.

 **"You were so nice I thought I should send you a note."**

 _He wants to see them again!_ He remembered John shivering as Lee said "I'll make it good for you, TC. I promise you'll love it." _So he's not happy with me. I know it's been difficult for John to adjust. Lee is sexy, sensual, uninhibited, so much more experienced, touching him like an old lover-_

 **"Like I told you, my curiosity was a recent thing. But I'm happy to report that I'm no longer merely curious."**

Sherlock's hair raised on the back of his head. _Is he really going to boast about bedding me? Was I just "practice" for him?_

 **"I'm currently in a relationship with the most amazing man I've ever met. We've been friends for the past couple of years, and now we learned that we feel the same way for each other. Needless to say, I'll be taking my profile down from the site. It was good to meet you. Best of luck to you, TC."**

Sherlock remained frozen, staring at the screen. He felt his cheeks burning all the sudden, that was unexpected. _"The most amazing man I've ever met."_ He let those words roll in his head, revelling in the warmth they gave him. _"I'm currently in a relationship with the most amazing man I've ever met."_ He liked the way it sounded. His heart fluttered, a smile spread wide on his face.

Perhaps it was a weakness, not being able to resist the demands of his transport. Just like in the past, he couldn't resist when John touched him. Yet, this was completely unlike what he once had with Victor. It was much, much more. This time, Sherlock couldn't resist being the one doing the touching as well. He discovered that touch didn't benefit the giver, but the receiver. Intellectually he had known that, obviously. To his hands, what did it matter whether they caressed a hand, an arm, a shoulder? But now, he finally understood its appeal. Now he was experiencing what being the one who gave pleasure was like, and this was just as intoxicating and rewarding as receiving it. He quickly became addicted to extracting little sounds from John. Still, this physical happiness could not compare to what being loved and well, yes, _loving_ gave him. Both aspects were deeply correlated, one enhanced the other, they co-existed and fed off of each other. With John, he had a real relationship. _I'm the one in a relationship with the most amazing man I've ever met._

His smile faded just as quickly once he became aware of John standing behind him. Most certainly John would think Sherlock's snooping was "not good". Through his peripheral vision he saw John's hands rest on the table on each side of him. He smelled soap and a wave of humidity surrounded him. Looking down to the side, the hairs on John's arms looked darker as they stuck to his skin. _Only wearing a towel, then. Oh._

He felt a puff of air on his nape as John chuckled, 'You could've asked, you know?'

Sherlock felt John's lips touching him lightly, nuzzling slowly up and down as he whispered into his skin. 'I should add, not all my curiosity has been satiated yet.' Goose pimples sprung all over his body. 'Each day I discover new things. What you like. What I like. And there are still many things I'd like to try with you, given time.'

Now John was kissing his nape, moving slowly to the side of his neck. Closing his eyes, Sherlock smiled and exhaled breathlessly, a feeble moan escaping from his lips.

'In fact, there's something I want to try tonight...,' John whispered into his ear, a pleasant tickling feeling Sherlock never got tired of.

Perhaps giving his transport control was not such a bad thing, after all.

Sherlock shuddered and surrendered.

J+S

* * *

A/Notes: Now that the story is over I'll have to figure out what to do with myself (maybe get into this Christmas thing?). :)

Originally I had set myself a challenge to write a "real case", i.e., no gay couples targeted so John and Sherlock had to pretend to be together (guilty, I've done that too). A young woman found dead behind locked doors. Then, Beth and Lee just showed up. I did write a second date in a hotel room with Sherlock and the Yard listening in in an earlier draft. John had requested for no Donovan or Anderson, he was too embarrassed and trepidatious to bear it. Lestrade was embarrassed, Sherlock was jealous (obviously), an older sergeant was disgusted and a young (male) sergeant was hot and bothered. But then I thought "BORING, it has been done before". So sorry, no threesome attempted smut for you. I'll leave it up to you guys to imagine it. I'm sure you can picture the "different combinations". ;)

I hope the case was convincing. In ealier drafts there was no mystery; it was so easy that even a blindfolded Anderson would've solved it (:D - no, I'm being mean, he's probably a very capable forensics specialist, just belligerent because he's not like Sherlock). I wanted more adventure, but it didn't get as wild as I had hoped. Please let me know how I did.

Now I have to start nag- ahem, asking my beta to edit the next story waiting in line. At least they still come out faster than Sherlock's seasons! Lol.

Thank you again for reading, reviewing, following, favoriting. These are the highest compliments to me. And my thanks to **TheCauldron** for taking the time to review almost every chapter, plus messaging me and making me laugh. I'm not into Harry Potter fanfiction, but she has one story with more than a thousand favorites, so it's gotta be a good one. I'll be checking it out. Maybe you should too. Happy shipping!

BJ


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